Making something in a hotel dining room in the 1890s and having it continue to appear on menus, in recipe columns, and in home kitchens well into the next century is a peculiar form of immortality. Oscar Tschirky, the renowned maître d’hôtel of the Waldorf-Astoria, most likely did not expect that. Using what was on hand and what would look good in a large dining room, he was putting together a salad for a charity ball. Mayonnaise, celery, and apples. That was the entire situation. So far, no walnuts. Not a single grape. There were just three ingredients, but they were so well-balanced that people continued to request it.
The walnuts came later, before 1928, when they were included with the now-familiar recipe in The Rector Cook Book. The addition may have been gradual rather than decisive, the kind of change that occurs when enough cooks independently make the same minor improvement until it becomes the norm. In any case, the walnuts changed the recipe. When they were briefly heated in a dry pan before being added to the bowl, they added a toasty depth, a dry crunch against the moisture of the apple and celery, and a bitterness that cut through the mayonnaise. In this case, toasting is important because raw walnuts taste bland and don’t add much to the dressing.
Making the original Waldorf salad recipe with walnuts at home doesn’t require much modification because the basic ingredients have remained consistent across iterations. To avoid browning, chop two large tart apples (Granny Smith holds up best because its acidity works against the richness of the dressing) and toss them right away with lemon juice. A cup of finely chopped celery, which gives the salad structure and a subtle, easily overlooked vegetal bitterness. Chopped and toasted walnuts, half a cup. Red grapes without seeds, cut in half, provide color and sweetness without overpowering the other ingredients. The basic ingredients of the dressing are mayonnaise, lemon juice, salt, and pepper. However, many contemporary cooks use Greek yoghurt to cut the mayonnaise, which loosens the texture and adds a subtle tang that the original most likely lacked.
Watching this recipe make the rounds on food websites and cookbooks for the hundredth time gives me the impression that it is still popular because it actually works, not because it is nostalgic. The textures are complementary and unique. Nothing in the bowl seems to conflict with anything else. Crucially, it’s also quick—just fifteen minutes of work, served cold, with only a quick toasting of the nuts needed for cooking. It has aged remarkably gracefully for a salad that has been around for 130 years.
There has been some elaboration on the recipe. Several highly regarded British versions feature blue cheese, especially Stilton, crumbled over the top with the reserved walnuts. A common addition that makes the dish more substantial is chicken. The dressing‘s character is completely altered by the addition of French mustard, which gives it a sharp edge where the original was simpler. Each of these variations can be justified, and some could even be considered improvements. However, there is a case for occasionally going back to the original Waldorf salad recipe with walnuts in its most basic form—the four or five ingredients arranged on lettuce leaves, the dressing applied sparingly, nothing overshadowing what initially made the dish worthwhile.
It’s still unclear if Oscar Tschirky would acknowledge the evolution of the Waldorf salad. He might have been taken aback just by the grapes. What appears to be fairly certain is that the original concept—clean, contrasting flavors, dressed simply, and served cold—has endured longer than the majority of the same era’s culinary trends. That is worth something.
