How I Unlocked the Secrets of NYC's Most Famous Salad at Home

For a long time, I didn't understand the appeal of a big green salad at a restaurant. I was always baffled by those who ordered it—why spend money on a pile of limp, bruised leaves tossed in a predictable vinaigrette when you could order, say, a crudo, or a bowl of marinated olives, or really any appetizer that doesn't arrive looking weary?

That was my thinking until a few years ago, when I was taken on a lunch date to Via Carota in the West Village. While the restaurant has been wildly popular since it opened in 2014, I'd never been. The room is warm and softly crowded, with dark wood tables and tall windows that open onto Grove Street, one of Manhattan's prettiest blocks, lined with ivy-covered brick townhouses and dappled in afternoon light. Look up from your Negroni and you'll see downtown fashionistas, art people, off-duty cooks, editors, neighborhood regulars, and, on rare occasion, Taylor Swift.

Owned by chefs Jody Williams and Rita Sodi, Via Carota serves Italian food that feels instinctive. It's rustic yet exacting, rooted in skill and subtlety. The vegetables are simply cooked, the pastas glossy and perfectly seasoned, each dish composed with quiet confidence. Everything on the menu carries that elusive balance between effortlessness and precision.

My date, knowing my feelings about green salad, gave a sheepish smile as we discussed our order. "I know how you feel about green salad," he said, "but this one's different." Given that he'd never steered me wrong when it came to food, I trusted him. Our table quickly filled with small plates: acciughe e burro—thick slices of bread topped with generous amounts of rich European butter and layered with salty anchovies; tonno e fagioli—creamy cannellini beans with raw tuna and calabrian chili; and the most perfectly emulsified cacio e pepe. And then there it was, the insalata verde, as it's listed on the menu. 

It stood like a small tower, a deliberate tangle of greens—crisp romaine, pale frisée, forest-green watercress, soft folds of Bibb, and a few bitter endive leaves tucked between. The leaves seemed to cascade onto the plate like those helicopter maple seeds, each one landing elegantly and lightly. For the first time, I saw a restaurant salad without a single wilted leaf. And when I took a bite, the sharp, puckering sherry vinaigrette jolted the whole thing awake—bright, electric, and impossible not to love.

What Makes the Via Carota Salad so Special?

After that meal, I went looking for answers—what exactly made that salad so good? Turns out, I'm not the only one in love with it; the insalata verde has an adoring fanbase. Recently, our senior editor Genevieve told me, "I think about the salad all the time, and I can't go to the restaurant without ordering it."

A quick search led me to a 2019 New York Times article by Samin Nosrat, in which she unpacks the dizzying meticulousness behind it. Each variety of green, she wrote, is washed in its own temperature of water; every leaf inspected, no brown edge in sight. The shallots are rinsed in cold water to remove some of their edge, but not soaked in acid like vinegar or lemon juice, to keep their flavor sharp. Meanwhile, the vinaigrette gets a spoonful of warm water to soften its bite. "We want a salad dressing so savory and delicious that you can eat spoonfuls of it," Williams told Nosrat. "We want you to be able to drink it!"

Truth be told, after working in restaurants for almost 10 years, I'm not convinced your washing water needs to be kept at a precise temperature to get an ideal salad. But looking at the leaves on my plate at Via Carota, one thing was clear: Those greens were cared for—a lot.

Anyone who's worked in a restaurant kitchen, especially in Manhattan, knows how tight walk-in fridges can be. Space is limited, and every square inch counts. In the scramble to make room, it's common to see cooks cram delicate greens into lexans—the clear plastic containers used for storage and prep—pressing them down to fit more in. It's efficient in terms of space, but it bruises the leaves in the process. I've never seen the walk-in at Via Carota, but I'd bet their greens have room to breathe, stored in containers that aren't packed to the brim. 

I'm not saying you need to pull out an instant-read thermometer and take the water temperature of the washing water next time you make a salad for lunch; still, that meal changed how I think about salad forever. Seeing how much care went into every leaf at Via Carota made me realize that a great salad isn't about super-fancy ingredients or clinical precision—it's about respect for the ingredients themselves. Now, whenever I make a salad at home, I follow a few simple steps that capture a little of that same magic.

6 Key Steps to Building the Perfect Green Salad

1. Use a mixture of greens. The best salads are a study in contrast. Combine greens with different textures and flavors—peppery arugula, tender butter lettuce, crisp romaine, and a little frisée for its frilly edges and mild bitterness. At Via Carota they use butter lettuce, romaine, endives, watercress, and frisée, but you don't have to be limited to a specific mix, the key point is that variety keeps each bite interesting instead of one-note. (See our guide to salad greens for inspiration.)

2. Store greens properly. Once you bring your greens home, treat them like the delicate produce they are. Never cram them into containers. Even if pressing them down makes them fit, resist the urge. Greens should have ample room to breathe; crowding them bruises the leaves before you even start. Instead, layer them loosely between paper towels or clean kitchen towels and store them in a roomy container or resealable bag. The airflow helps keep them crisp, and the towels absorb excess moisture so your greens stay lively for days. (For more on proper lettuce handling, see our guide to cleaning and storing fresh produce.)

3. Wash in cold water. Cold water perks up tired leaves and removes grit. I like to briefly soak the greens in a large bowl for a minute or two, swish them around, and change the water a couple of times until no debris remains. If you plan to use them soon, separate and wash the leaves; for longer storage, leave them whole and unwashed until you need them, since excess moisture makes them wilt and spoil faster.

4. Dry thoroughly. A watery salad is a sad salad—the leaves need to be dry for dressing to cling to them. I prefer to lay the greens between clean kitchen towels in a single, even layer, and pat them dry—it's gentler on delicate leaves than a salad spinner.

5. Make a punchy dressing. A lively salad needs an equally lively vinaigrette. I favor ones that are especially bright and acidic—sherry vinegar, apple cider vinegar, or lemon juice all work beautifully. Stir in minced shallots and/or whole-grain mustard for texture and bite. I tend to favor loud flavors in a vinaigrette, so I don't rinse my shallots or add a splash of water to mellow it out à la Via Carota, but feel free to experiment as you like.

6. Don't overdress (or underdress) your salad. No one wants a soggy salad, but eating an underdressed one makes me feel like a rabbit chewing on grass. I toss the greens with a bit of vinaigrette, spoon some onto the bottom of the bowl or plate, and finish with a final drizzle over the top for extra punch. Be gentle when tossing; the goal is to coat, not bruise.

The Takeaway

In the end, a perfect green salad comes down to proper care for the leaves. Say no to wilted greens withering away by the second, and enjoy a thriving pile that actually feels alive on the plate—verdant, crisp, and the perfect way to round out a meal, whether it's pasta, roast chicken, or anything else that could use a crisp counterpart.