Hello friends. I come to you in the new year with something a little different. Something a little more exploratory. Something that’s going to take two parts. This year, and especially the end of it, has been challenging, to say the least. I have quite a few essays that are three-quarters of the way done, but don’t feel quite right. My poems have been uncharacteristically dark, and I don’t want to be known as that kind of poet. Anyways, I won’t bore you with details. We’re going on a quest to find the best Caesar salads in L.A. Or of my life. Whichever comes first. Yes, that’s right, I said we. You’ll be joining me on my journey, whether you want to or not. Hee hee.
The Caesar salad is, by nature, a subject of debate. It has never claimed authenticity—despite those that strive for it—and that’s the beauty of it. It doesn’t take itself too seriously. Its origins are disputed almost as much as its ingredients. It welcomes change, it lends itself to adaptation. It means different things to different people. And, most importantly, it’s all about the vibe.
The story goes that the salad was first created by an Italian immigrant, Caesar Cardini, in Tijuana. Back in the day (aka the prohibition) Californians would hop on over to TJ to get their drank on, so French-trained Cardini opened up “Caesar’s Hotel” just south of the border to get in on the business. During a rush on the 4th of July, 1942, he slammed together a bunch of ingredients lying around to feed the waiting guests, and the Caesar salad was born. Well, a Caesar salad. The original one called for lime juice. And was (gasp!) deconstructed, meant to be eaten as finger food.
The fire was ignited. It became a sensation. Julia freaking Child visited and wrote in From Julia’s Kitchen, “Caesar himself rolled the big cart up to the table, tossed the romaine in a great wooden bowl and I wish I could say I remembered his every move, but I don't... It was a sensation of a salad from coast to coast, and there were even rumblings of its success in Europe.”
While this seems to be the most-accepted origin story, many, many others have claimed to be the salad’s true creator, including Cardini’s family members and other chefs across the country. You can still visit Caesar’s Hotel today and get an OG salad. Road trip, anyone?
But enough history. That’s not what this is about. This is about the idea of a Caesar salad—and making our quest about authenticity and tradition is too easy and decidedly not as fun. Because over the years, a Caesar salad has mutated from its origins into forms unrecognizable to traditionalists. No longer relegated to the fringes of society as an appetizer or a side salad, it’s become a main dish that people crave. It’s become a comfort food.
For me, the Caesar salad has deep ties to my teenage years. I was often sent to school with one of those flat, square tupperwares filled with romaine lettuce, a few strips of sometimes-mushy, sometimes-chewy, always-still-frozen-in-the-middle grilled chicken, about 7 or 10 croutons and exactly 2 tablespoons of Whole Foods 365 dressing. No cheese. Duh.
By the time lunchtime came around, I was ravenous (of course I didn’t eat breakfast, I had coffee). Nothing ever tasted so good. I would inhale it, lick leftover dressing from the container. Sometimes I would get home and eat another one for dinner. But this wasn’t about obsession—I wasn’t particular to the Caesar, it’s just what was served to me. It was more about consistency, satisfaction, regularity, safety.
Obviously, times are different. I’ve grown. But the challenge in trying to recreate a comfort food that was objectively sad and pathetic comes from the fine line of satisfaction. We’ve got to figure out how to take things to the next level.
And this is where you come in. I assume I’m not the only one who considers Caesar salad to be a comfort food. And I want to know what makes a good Caesar salad. Not a traditional one, but a good one. Of course, all of this will be subjective. Controversial, even. Are you an anchovies truther? What’s the ideal crouton situation? Once we’ve gone into crispy chicken and wrap territory, have we gone too far?
For me, (and this might be a hot take) parmesan cheese is not vital to making a great Caesar salad. But a bad cheese can break it, for sure—like the waxy, chalky, plastic-y pre-grated parm that’s often drowning an otherwise ok salad. I’d rather have no cheese if that’s the case. When it comes to lettuce, it has to be the freshest, crunchiest romaine in the world, or something else. The croutons should be crispy and salty, but they cannot explode when stabbed with a fork, otherwise it’s almost impossible to eat. I like an emulsified, fluffy, creamy, garlic-y dressing over the ones that look like bits of cheese suspended in olive oil. Chicken, to me, is the key factor to turning a Caesar salad from traditional to a comfort food, because it makes it into more of a one-and-done meal. Grilled or fried, served hot and whole on top or chopped up and mixed in, none of that matters too much to me, it just has to be juicy, well-cooked, and not too distracting. It’s sustenance.
These are my particular biases going into this project, but I’m going to keep an open mind. I’m making a list of restaurants and recipes to try—and I really would love your recommendations. Nothing is off the table: grocery store salad cases, steakhouses, specific Sweetgreen locations, your grandmother’s famous recipe. Feel free to comment or email me at vasi@substack.com with any ideas!
I’m going to try and make as many as I can, and visit a few places from each category (I unfortunately cannot afford to try every fancy steakhouse or Michelin-star salad in LA). I’ll compile everything into a spreadsheet with notes, photos, ratings, and most importantly, feelings, and share with you all next month! Bon appetit, Brutus!!
Can’t wait to join this journey
i will go with you to eat the caesar salad at Donna’s ANY TIME.