9 Condiments That Have No Place On A Salad

Though Merriam-Webster defines the term "condiment" as "something (such as a seasoning, sauce, garnish, or topping) that is added to food usually after the food is prepared and that enhances or adds to its flavor," the term itself has come to mean various things to different folks. And, when it comes to condiments, the sky's the limit with options. Virtually every culture has a unique variety of ingredients it relies on to doctor up a meal.

One such dish that we all jazz up is a humble tossed salad. As a chef, I happen to love making salads. In fact, it's one of my favorite things to compose. That said, I do lean on a number of different condiments to help brighten up the flavor of greens and enhance their mouthfeel. Though many of these condiments go into the dressing I use to coat the greens, others are simply added as a garnish atop the salad to give it visual, olfactory, and textural appeal.

In my 18 years running a fine dining restaurant and teaching cooking classes, I got pretty adept at incorporating a wide swath of unusual condiments into my culinary creations. In fact, I can pretty much come up with a way of using just about anything in any recipe, given enough time. That said, there are a handful of condiments that, in my professional opinion, while perfectly well-suited for other recipes, have no place on a salad.

As most of us probably learned in our earliest science classes, some liquids don't combine well, like the vinegar and oil in a salad dressing. In order to force these ingredients to play nicely together, another chemical compound, known as an emulsifier, is employed. One such emulsifier that is a common addition to salad dressings is mustard. The reason mustard is such an effective emulsifier is that its seeds contain mucilage, which is both hydrophilic and hydrophobic, meaning it attracts both water and oil. This quality helps to homogenize the ingredients in salad dressing, while simultaneously contributing a cutting, slightly spicy flavor that can temper sweet and acidic elements.

While there are a number of different mustard varieties out there that are perfectly serviceable for use in a salad, the yellow kind is not one of them. Yellow mustard is produced by combining white mustard seeds with vinegar and turmeric until the mixture is creamy and has a vibrant hue. As yellow mustard is puréed, much of the mucilage from the seeds is eliminated, which makes it less effective for emulsification.

What's more, though the flavor is less pungent than other varieties of mustard, which are often made from spicier brown or black mustard seeds, it's assertively vinegary, which can overwhelm other ingredients in the dressing, rather than complement them. For my money, Dijon mustard is the best option for salads.

When it comes to a basic salad dressing, oil and vinegar are the stars of the show. The oil acts as a vehicle to distribute the other ingredients in the dressing, while enhancing the mouthfeel of crisp greens. The acid from the vinegar helps to juxtapose the viscosity of the oil, while cutting through the bitter elements that are often present in greens. Again, while there are a number of different types of vinegar out there that you can use for a salad, such as balsamic or champagne, one that is not ideal is the distilled variety.

Distilled vinegar is produced by fermenting grain alcohol. Though it tends to have a more acerbic bite, it actually contains comparable percentages of acetic acid to other cooking vinegars, around 5%, which makes it perfectly safe to consume. The superpower of this type of vinegar is its relatively neutral flavor profile. Its downfall is its singular acidity, which isn't balanced out by other elements.

When it comes to a salad, the particularly piercing astringency of distilled vinegar tends to overwhelm any other ingredients, including the oil. It lacks nuance and complexity, which would be conferred by more sophisticated types of vinegar, including those produced from wine, apple cider, or coconut sap. That said, distilled vinegar does have its culinary uses, including pickling, baking, and marinades, where you are wanting something that is acidic, yet doesn't have an underlying flavor that might influence the final dish.

My inclusion of truffle oil on this list of condiments that have no place on a salad is not an outright proclamation of its inferiority. While there are differing opinions about the use and even legitimacy of truffle oil, with some chefs asserting it is an abomination and should be avoided at all costs, I am not one of those.

First, it's important to understand what truffle oil is and is not, before explaining why it doesn't belong on a salad. Real truffles are one of the greatest delicacies on the planet and among the most expensive commodities, thanks to their rarity. Truffle oil, on the other hand, is produced by imbuing a neutral-flavored oil, like olive or grapeseed, with a compound known as 2,4-dithiapentane. This is an aromatic compound that, while found in truffles, can also be sourced from other ingredients. The ones added to truffle oil are seldom extracted from actual truffles, which means it may lend some distinctive aroma and flavor to your food, but is nothing reminiscent of the real deal.

The flavor of truffle oil is often quite intense and can quickly overwhelm a dish if not used sparingly, which is why it has limitations when it comes to use on a salad. It works best as a finishing oil, where it can lend an element of umami-richness that is somewhat mushroom-forward, which can accentuate earthy, fatty, and savory flavors in those dishes.

If you are a fan of sushi, you are likely already well-acquainted with what wasabi is. For those who aren't, this bright green condiment, and its lack of efficacy as an ingredient on a salad, may be more of a mystery. Wasabi is the root stalk of a plant that is in the Brassicaceae family, which also includes horseradish and mustard. This rhizome is grated into a paste that is frequently served alongside soy sauce to help liven up its flavor. Wasabi is known for its intense aroma and flavor, which is incredibly spicy.

Unlike chili peppers, the type of heat produced by wasabi is not a byproduct of capsaicin, but rather a result of the chemical allyl isothiocyanate. While both of these are distinguished as "spicy" by various receptors in the mouth, allyl isothiocyanate is particularly potent because it is a petite molecule that tends to vaporize quickly when heated on the tongue. This instantly gets transferred to the nose, where it delivers an often almost unbearable sensation in your nasal passages, like your brain might ignite.

I personally think this type of heat, though far less persistent than that produced by chilis, is too pungent for use with delicate salad greens. What's more, when combined with oil and vinegar, the allyl isothiocyanates are distributed even more readily, causing an even more exaggerated response. Save the wasabi for your sushi and skip it on your next salad.

Though not as common as incorporating emulsifying mustard, the addition of a sweetener to a salad dressing is a relatively well-known practice. In theory, a sweetener, like pancake syrup, can help balance out the intense flavors in a salad dressing, including taming the acidity of the vinegar or mellowing spicy and bitter notes from the mustard. It can also lend a richness in mouthfeel that combats the greasiness of oil and gives the dressing a velvety quality that more effectively coats hearty greens.

While the unique viscosity and flavor of pancake syrup may work just fine on flapjacks, in my estimation it has no place on a salad. Pancake or table syrup is a synthetic product made from high fructose corn syrup combined with various artificial flavors, colors, preservatives, and stabilizers, which give it a distinctive thick texture that coats pancakes, rather than getting absorbed by them.

Because pancake syrup is typically less expensive than its pure maple counterpart, it is a common ingredient in household pantries. That said, its texture is far too dense for delicate salad greens, I find it to be cloyingly sweet, and the artificial aftertaste is unpalatable. If you want to add a hint of sweetness to offset bitter greens and tame some of the other ingredients in a dressing, opt for natural sweeteners, like honey or pure maple syrup, or try adding fresh or dried fruit to the salad.

Velveeta is another ingredient that is increasingly being used as a groundbreaking condiment. This cheese has been making its way onto American plates for over 100 years, and though not necessarily a common addition to a salad, I have witnessed stranger things. While I am all for putting actual cheese onto a salad, this pasteurized prepared cheese product does not belong anywhere near lettuce.

The elements that make Velveeta so popular as an ingredient in mac and cheese, on grilled cheese sandwiches, or added to a creamy dip are what make it undesirable for use on a salad. Velveeta is made by combining pasteurized skim milk with emulsifiers, including sodium citrate, whey, salt, annatto, and canola oil. These are heated together, cooled, and formed into shelf-stable blocks that can be sliced, diced, and melted into a variety of recipes.

Though you could eat Velveeta as-is, straight out of the packaging, you wouldn't want to, as it has a funky, synthetic flavor and gummy texture that is rather unpalatable. When melted, it is smooth and doesn't clump the way real cheese can, but it is quite dense and would weigh down delicate lettuce leaves, rendering them completely wilted and mushy. And, frankly, no matter how incredibly well Velveeta melts, I cannot get past its artificial taste. There are plenty of other soft cheeses that would be far better-suited for a salad, like goat cheese or an herb-infused Boursin, that don't taste or feel like a science project gone awry.

While the anthropologist in me recognizes that there is a time and place for the products Vegemite and Marmite, and that these are popular with a subset of the Australian and British populace, the food snob in me has a definite disdain of these savory spreads and would suggest that they have zero business going anywhere near anyone's salad. This conversation could end here, but I feel the need to defend my position so that I do not get hate mail from fans of these spreads.

Though there are slight differences between the condiments Vegemite and Marmite, namely that the former contains some added spices and aromatics, these spreads are essentially variations on a theme. They emerged as a means of repurposing a byproduct of beer making, namely brewer's yeast. This vitamin and flavor-rich ingredient was formulated into a spread for use as a nutritional supplement that could be smeared onto bread or crackers.

Both Vegemite and Marmite are known for their potent, umami notes, however, the former is typically considered to be more intensely-flavored, having a lingering bitterness and a denser, glue-like texture. Typically I appreciate this type of savory flavor-profile, however, in this case, it is too much of a good thing. It can be challenging to balance the overwhelming salty, meatiness of these spreads with other, more delicate ingredients in a salad. Additionally, their thick, pasty texture can leave behind a gritty mouthfeel that I find unpalatable, especially as a dressing for lettuce leaves.

If you have ever had a proper English fry up for breakfast, you have likely enjoyed, or at least experienced, a classic brown sauce. This condiment, of which HP is perhaps the most well-known, is drizzled on a wide array of foods to help infuse them with a boost of flavor. While it can be a versatile, and even tasty, addition to a number of dishes, one I do not love it on is a salad.

For those who may not be familiar with this umami-bomb of a condiment, it was invented in the late 1800s by British grocer Frederick Gibson Garton. The sauce recipe, which includes tomatoes, malt vinegar, molasses, dates, spices, and tamarind, is loosely based on one of the classic French mother sauces, the Espagnole, though it is far less sophisticated and complex.

My primary beef with this sauce when it comes to salads is that it can be somewhat harsh on the palate when consumed cold. It has salty, sour, and spicy notes that linger on the tongue if not heated slightly. Some warmth allows these intense flavors to mellow somewhat, making them more pleasant. I also dislike the texture, which, though smooth, tends to be thick and almost tacky. This has a tendency to weigh down lettuce leaves and wilt them, rather than coat them carefully.

One of the most popular condiments out there, particularly for those who like their food spicy, is hot sauce. The number of different kinds of hot sauce on the market are staggering, with many cultures having their own unique variations, such as Korean gochujang or North African harissa paste. Though many of these can, and are, used regularly on raw vegetables, including salad recipes, there is a point at which I find them overwhelming for this purpose, and this may vary from person to person.

Hot sauces have developed something of a cult-like following, with many experimenting with hotter and more intensely spicy peppers. Some of the world's hottest hot sauces are made with peppers that are nearly 125 times spicier than a jalapeño, clocking in at 9 million Scoville units. This is enough to send most of us to the emergency room if not used incredibly sparingly.

My general rule of thumb with spicy condiments is that they should enhance the flavor of food, not numb your taste buds or make you uncomfortable, at best, or leave you in excruciating pain, at worst. I appreciate a mild warmth on the palate that encourages saliva production and allows other flavors to spread across the tongue. For this reason, a majority of hot sauces that are on the more potent side in terms of heat are not my cup of tea when added to more fragile ingredients, like those in a salad.