This steakhouse does three dishes as well as anyone in the city, and none of them are steak: the French dip, the burger, and the house salad that comes as an option with either of those. The mound of chopped iceberg lettuce, topped with Cheez-It crackers and salami slices, hits the same nostalgic notes as the 1960s suburbia ambience. Specializing in retro-American comfort food at its finest means giving diners all the options for dressing—even if ranch is always the right choice.

I hate when restaurants make something so good I must retract a previous statement. I apologize: I no longer believe that nobody should ever put chicories in a Caesar salad. I now believe that nobody except for Tivoli should put chicories in a Caesar salad. Somehow, the kitchen succeeds where others have failed, altering the dressing enough to balance the brightly colored leaves and capitalize on the bitterness as an asset. Standing in for croutons is a Japanese take on Italian toasted garlicky breadcrumbs, further smoothing the sharp flavors—a trade that others might consider a Caesar sin, but another one for which Tivoli makes an excellent argument. 

Unlike most of the salads on this list, diners can’t just sit down and order the chile-sesame dressed greens at Son of a Butcher. Thankfully, the spicy salad arrives unsought with all of the restaurant’s Korean barbecue combinations and entrées, along with an assortment of top-notch banchan. The dead-simple tangle of mixed greens, thinly sliced red onion, and a few slivers of carrot comes coated in a slightly sweet and barely spicy dressing of sesame oil and soy sauce. On a table of big flavors, that dressing makes the salad a surprising standout, even beside all those grilled meats. 

Even before adding chicken tenders on top (which everyone should absolutely do, the spicier the better), the green goddess–dressed wedge salad at Sisters and Brothers is a monster. It comes in a bowl, which both makes it rather difficult to eat but also seems to be the only way to contain the wedges (multiple). Hard-boiled egg halves squeeze in on one side and a porcine explosion strews thick chunks of crispy bacon and cherry tomato halves all over. There ends any similarity to a traditional wedge, as confetti of carrots and red onions, slices of cucumber, and shredded smoked Gouda round it out.

Some prix fixe restaurants offer caviar supplements and foie gras add-ons. But at the famously precise and refined Canlis, renowned for its dynamic, modern mindset, the only upgrade to the multicourse menu available is the messy and vintage eponymous salad. Chopped romaine lettuce, crispy bits of bacon, and sun-sweet cherry tomatoes evoke a steakhouse salad; the tableside presentation, grated cheese, and coddled egg–based dressing lean toward a Caesar, while the defining elements (the bold mint, oregano, and scallions) come from the Canlis family’s Lebanese heritage. Salad-
focused folks can skip the fine dining and find it on the lounge menu, where it comes at a slight discount, due to the forgoing of the tableside theatrics.

One could, theoretically choose between the mango salad, papaya salad, and lotus root salad at Green Tree, but the combo salad includes all three, tossed together with carrots, jicama, chopped herbs, and fried onions, and comes out far better than any one on its own. The choice of grilled shrimp, tofu, pork, or chicken bulks things up to the point that the salad works as a meal on its own, though nobody should miss an opportunity to order the restaurant’s silky rice-noodle rolls. 

Elegant is rarely a word I use for lettuce, but the stack of Bibb anchoring Le Pichet’s Salade Verte, with roasted hazelnuts precariously perched on top, barely clinging to the dressing, deserves nothing less. The nearly imperceptible dressing belies its suave complexity: a Dijon and sherry vinaigrette sweetened with orange juice and bolstered by yet more roasted hazelnuts. The seemingly effortless, exceedingly French plate brings sophistication to a solo lunch and seamlessly joins forces with a charcuterie platter to make the ideal girl dinner—fille dinner, perhaps?

Very few Seattleites need an introduction to the city’s most prominent local pizza chain. It dominates in the space between bland, bargain-basement national spots and full-service independent restaurants, in part due to its commitment to using interesting and high-quality ingredients—which positions it marvelously to also make an incredible salad. The Pagliaccio works as a side for family pizza night, but the garbanzo beans, kasseri cheese, and salami tossed with green leaf lettuce add enough heartiness to level up to a light meal. Punctuated with red onions and red peppers, doused in Dijon vinaigrette, it packs more flavor than the pepperoni at Domino’s.

Like so much at Lenox, the Tres Hermanas tastes like Caribbean sunshine on a plate. This Afro-Latin take on the staples of Indigenous agriculture in the Americas tosses together a riot of textures, with nubbins of summer squash, kernels of roasted corn, bright pickled tomatoes, and haricots verts. It’s as colorful as the pastel architecture of Old San Juan, topped with herbs, and farmer’s cheese, and perched on a puddle of green goddess dressing. 

Pancita shows off the Caesar salad’s true roots—it was invented in Mexico, after all. The charred serrano peppers in the dressing turn up the heat, crunchy house-nixtamalized tortilla strips sub for croutons, and the whole thing arrives under a shower of cotija cheese to cool off burning tongues. A passion fruit Mezcalita helps, too.