Plate #3: Caesar Salad

I'm, like, really really into caesar salads. Peppery and creamy, and you don't feel completely terrible about yourself because it's still a salad, after all. I also get pretty embarrassed ordering them in restaurants because they're so ubiquitous and cheesy now. The Uggs of salads. The ironic moustache of salads. The cosmopolitan of salads.

Lucky for me, I can just make the dressing in the comfort of my own home, averting shame for one more day.

Jenny, pup. Sara, roommate. Both irrelevant to salad making.

The main components of caesar dressing are as follows: egg yolks, lemon juice, garlic, black pepper, olive oil, and anchovies.

I'm so artsy, I can't even handle it.

Okay, anchovies. I know they're terrifying. Little fish in a can. Kind of stinky. But really delicious! Once upon a time when I first made this dressing, I thought anchovies meant being true to the original recipe. (It's a rare occurrence, but I was wrong.)

Regardless, I got over the fact that you can feel their tiny edible bones crunching when you chop them into a paste (um, don't worry, uh, you will too!) and embraced anchovies for their yummy umaminess.

These came wrapped around capers, another one of my favorite
unsung salty heroes.

Also, sort of terrifying: raw eggs. If you are pregnant or a wimp, coddling the eggs is a way to kill salmonella. But let me say, the bacteria is only found in less than 1 in 20,000 eggs, so I shall live on the edge dammit! I'm crackin' my eggs with one hand and I'm eatin' those yolks raw.

Once you've overcome your fears, it's time for assembly.
Into a bowl: some of those mashed anchovies, a few of those raw egg yolks, as much minced garlic as your breath is willing to brave, several turns of the pepper mill, and lemon juice squirts. Mix them around, let them mingle.

The next step requires moderate to advanced ambidexterity, or a friend. (I used the latter.) While constantly whisking the contents of the bowl, slowly drizzle in olive oil. The slower the drizzle, the creamier the end result. Something about emulsions.

Emulsions in action!

All right, great! Congratulations. Pats on the back. You have made an unexpectedly dangerous dressing. Now for things to be dressed.

Romaine lettuce, obviously.

Parmesan cheese. Some people like to grate this into the dressing itself, but I prefer big salty shreds.

Chicken, optional. I grilled it. That's all.

Croutons. I won't deny the ones that come out of a box, but I made my own pretty easy. Slice up a baguette, rub that mother with some garlic, drizzle with olive oil (you're a pro!), and stick it in the oven until crunchy and toasted.

My garlicky little soldiers.

And there you are, a shame-free caesar salad. Feel free to eat while wearing Uggs and/or getting your moustache sticky with spilled cosmos.

Eat me.

Caesar Salad Dressing (makes 1 cup)
5 cloves garlic, minced
5 anchovies, mashed
3 egg yolks
1 ½ lemons, juiced
Black pepper, to taste

¾ cup olive oil

Romaine lettuce
Parmesan cheese
Grilled chicken

Whisk ingredients. Slowly drizzle olive oil into base until creamy. Dress romaine lettuce, parmesan cheese, and grilled chicken.

I tried to get fancy with my plating. I'm not sure how well I executed it.
I ate it all anyway.