Peach & Dandelion Greens Salad

By Kristeva Dowling | Queen of Fermentation, Stolen Harvest Meadery

If sunshine could fall into a bowl and dress itself in cheese, this would be it.

This salad is a wild marriage of sweet Alberta peaches, creamy goat cheese, and the earthy rebellion of dandelion greens — the kind of salad that hums with contrast and memory. It’s not shy. It’s not subtle. It’s the untamed poetry of summer, served cold.

Ingredients That Matter
Dandelion greens. Not the supermarket kind — the real ones, wild and bitter, full of minerals and stories. Pick young leaves for a gentler bite.
Basil. A handful of sweet basil, torn roughly — not chopped. Let the oils speak.
Peaches. Ripe, yellow-fleshed peaches — soft but not mushy. Slice just before serving to keep their scent intact.
Red onion. Thin slices add a sting and a bit of colour drama.
Goat cheese. Tangy, creamy, and unapologetically rich. If you can find it, use something local and fresh — even better if it came wrapped in wax paper.
Walnuts. Earthy and grounding. Toast them if you’ve got the time — the faeries will thank you.

Lemon-honey vinaigrette
Juice of 1 lemon
1 tablespoon red wine vinegar
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
2 tablespoons honey
6 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
Sea salt and black pepper to taste

Whisk until glossy and emulsified. Taste and trust your instincts — vinaigrette should sing.

Assembly Ritual
Whisk the vinaigrette first so the flavors can get to know each other.
Slice the peaches and onions with care and a sharp knife. This is a salad, not a massacre.
Scatter dandelion greens and basil onto a wide, shallow bowl or platter. This isn’t a tossed salad. It’s a landscape.
Gently lay the peaches and red onion over the greens. Don’t crowd. Let them breathe.
Crumble goat cheese, then sprinkle with walnuts. Be generous but not chaotic.
Drizzle the vinaigrette just before serving, or let each eater anoint their own portion.
Taste and adjust. Maybe more lemon. Maybe more honey. Maybe it’s perfect as it is.

Notes from the Wild
This salad doesn’t keep. It lives and dies in the moment it’s dressed.
Serve it with a chilled glass of pet-nat mead or wild-ferment honey cider. Something alive.
Don’t underestimate the power of bitter greens. Dandelions are misunderstood — much like most brilliant women.

This isn’t just a salad. It’s an ode to what grows in your yard, ripens on your tree, and hums in your kitchen. Eat it outside. Eat it barefoot.
Kristeva Dowling
Queen of Fermentation
Stolen Harvest Meadery