Not-just-any-old-potato salad with fried capers and olives + parsley oil
(and why you should be turning your herbs into emerald liquid gold)
Hello hello!
It’s been a while—though, truth be told, most of my posts seem to start with some version of that sentence, followed by a long-winded explanation of why. Sod it. We all have lives to live, things to do, little and big people to look after, books to (attempt to) read, bodies to move—you get the gist.
Apart from all of the above, I’ve also been cooking a lot. Or rather, assembling things onto plates—mostly bits and bobs that require minimal heat because our house is hot right now. So: salads. Sandwiches. Dishes that come together quickly and rely on pantry staples, fridge finds, and generous seasoning: Cans of beans and fish (tuna, sardines, anchovies—all deeply loved!), jars of olives and pickled peppers, miso, gochujang, chilli crisp, pickled jalapeños. Flavour bombs. The kind where a little goes a long way.
Which brings me to today’s dish: potato salad.
Now, potato salad is a bit of a stretch for me. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: I don’t really love potatoes (shock! horror!). Except, of course, for the very thin, very crispy, very processed kind you get at fast food joints—those I’ll never say no to. But in general- way too many other way too interesting vegetables to play with.
Potato salad though? That’s a different beast.
For me, as a Greek person, potato salad (patatosalata!) lives firmly in the world of tsipouradika—tavernas that specialize in serving tsipouro, a very fragrant, very potent grape-based spirit. My mum is from Volos, a gorgeous seaside city in central Greece known for its tsipouradika, and growing up, this whole ritual was pure magic. It still is. You order a round of tsipouro and, with each tiny carafe, out come little mezze plates—unpredictable, generous, perfectly paced. It starts small (olives, bread, perhaps some steamed courgettes with olive oil and lemon), and then gets heartier as tsipouro keeps flowing. Ordering from the menu is technically possible, but kind of frowned upon—it’s more like: “We’ve got this. Let us pace this out. Let us feed you—in a way that ensures you can (preferably) leave here walking straight.”
Among those offerings, you often get patatosalata. The one I love. Olive oil-heavy, bright with vinegar, scattered with capers and olives, sometimes tossed with jarred red peppers, and always finished with loads of fresh herbs—usually parsley. It’s punchy, briny, tangy, lush.
So I made a version of that. It’s not exactly traditional—I made a few tweaks based on what I had. No red peppers (none available), and instead of proper whole olives, I used the pre-sliced kind (a crime, truly—but that’s what happens when you shop with sunglasses on). If you can, always go for whole olives. Way more flavour. I fried the capers (can’t resist a fried caper) and the olives, to give those sad little slices some depth. And I added a simple vinaigrette, because potatoes need acid and mustardy oomph.
Normally, I’d finish it off with an almost offensive amount of chopped parsley and mint, but this time, I took a slightly fancier route—out of necessity, mostly. I had lots of parsley to use up, so I made a herb oil. Easy and satisfying: blanch, dry, blend, drip. And what you get is not only gorgeous, but wildly useful. It’s the kind of thing that turns into a jack-of-all-trades condiment—exactly the kind I love.
Watch this space next week for a pasta using that oil. But in the meantime—and with no further ado—here you go:
Not-just-any-old-potato salad with fried capers and olives + parsley oil
For the parsley oil:
4 cups (loosely packed) fresh parsley - leaves only (about 60–70g)
120 ml vegetable oil
120 ml olive oil
Ice and water, for blanching
For the fried capers:
4 tbsp capers, drained and patted dry
4 tbsp sliced black olives (which are usually a crime to have- I did, so here we are. You can, and honestly should, use whole black olives, pitted and sliced into big chunks)
Olive oil, for frying (about 4 tbsp)
For the vinaigrette:
6 tbsp olive oil (I started off with the frying oil and topped it off accordingly)
2 tbsp wholegrain mustard (you can also use Dijon, I’m just a big fan of the grainy kind)
Juice from 1 lemon
Salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste
For the salad:
about 1 kg baby potatoes, washed and unpeeled
4 spring onions, thinly sliced on the diagonal
First make the parsley oil:
Bring a medium pot of water to a boil and fill a large bowl with water and ice cubes for blanching.
Tip the herbs into the boiling water for 20 seconds until they wilt and brighten and immediately transfer them to the ice water to stop cooking.
Once they are fully chilled, remove them with a slotted spoon and dry them fully on kitchen paper (don’t rush this, just let them be for a while).
Then blend them with 120 ml olive oil and 120 ml vegetable oil on high speed for 2–3 minutes until smooth and mega/emerald green.
Strain through a cheesecloth-lined fine mesh sieve; let the oil drain- it’ll take a minute; again, let it be.
Store in the fridge until ready to use.
Fry the Capers:
Heat about 4tablespoons of olive oil in a small pan over medium-high heat.
Add the well-dried capers and olives and fry for about 3 minutes until crispy and puffed.
Using the same slotted spoon, transfer to a paper towel-lined plate to drain. Keep the oil for the dressing.
Make the vinaigrette:
In a bowl or jar, whisk together the olive oil, lemon juice, mustard, salt and pepper.
Make the salad:
Place whole, unpeeled potatoes in a pot of cold, VERY well salted water (this is your first chance to really season the potatoes). Bring to a boil and simmer until just tender (about 20 minutes, depending on their size).
Drain, let them cool slightly and transfer to a large mixing bowl while still hot. Half or quarter (depending on their size) and immediately pour over the vinaigrette, tossing gently and coating them well (second chance to season; as the potatoes are hot, they’ll absorb the dressing and its flavours better).
Add the fried capers and olives, spring onions and a light drizzle of the parsley oil.