Et tu, Bruce?

The title of this post will be funny to the following people: me.

Listening to me talk about food and my family, or perusing the comments left on this blog by said family, one might suppose that, were one to turn up on one of our doorsteps feeling peckish and tilting one's head to the side in an adorably pathetic way, one might be instantly rewarded with a gourmet banquet worthy of Henry VIII. One would be surprised, then, to discover that our go-to Meal For Guests is much more humble...shrimp and Caesar salad.

It's my dad's fault. He is a foodie and a half, and has literally never served me a meal that didn't send me back into the kitchen for more. And more. And then pie. He has even tricked me into eating rare roast beef by performing a virtuouso bit of magic, which he mysteriously called "making it taste good." But his signature dish is Caesar salad.

I think he got the recipe in the islands somewhere, but he learned quickly that success here calls for tools and technique more than specific quantities. I am going to share the recipe with you tonight because I aim to send you out into the world, my little minions, to put an end to the HORRORS that are being perpetrated by restaurants in the name of Caesar salad. Romaine + ranch + stinky cheese from the green can + two miserable croutons does not equal Caesar salad. (1) 

Don't even TRY to make this unless you are properly equipped. It does not work unless you have a solid wood bowl of vast proportions. (2) Got a bowl? Be honest. Friends doubt me until they try it and fail. Okay, then. Proceed.

--Smash 1 garlic in bowl with fork (or use garlic press, you lazy cheater)
--Keep your fork flat against the base of the bowl for the rest.
--Add a sizeable pinch salt and healthy dollop of anchovy paste
--Mash into disgusting grey-brown goo with fork
--Add a dollop of mustard (I like the really coarse Dijon); stir (3)
--Add juice of 1/2 lemon (yes, it must be a fresh lemon!) 
--Add dash of Worcestershire, splash of red wine vinegar; stir
--Stirring, mix in as much olive oil as you want; taste
--Tear 1 large head of Romaine into bowl
--Grate in a sizable pile of Parmesano-Reggiano
--Add fresh cracked black pepper
--Toss to coat; serve (4)

This salad is a complete, cheap, fast meal package if you add any grilled protein or toss with cubed roasted root veggies, but as I say, we go with steamed shrimp. If you buy yours steamed and seasoned from the fishmonger, I won't tell. I rarely do my own shrimp. But for true Lizz's Dad authenticity, you must peel the shrimp before serving, which adds Class and removes Annoyance (but also the fun of sucking the Old Bay off your fingers). Spicy homemade cocktail sauce, too. Obv.

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(1) And why must you charge extra for it when your embarrassing bowl contains zero fresh vegetables? That better be some high quality ranch dressing you've got there.

(2) Seriously, it must be gigantic and unable to fit comfortably anywhere in your kitchen except on top of the fridge, where it will become a receptacle for colanders and other ungainly kitchen items of dubious utility. (5)

(3) This would be a good time to add a raw egg yolk, if you were a raw egg yolk kind of person. Me, I can barely eat them cooked. It does make the dressing silky, but I like mine piquant and rather acidic. And not containing raw egg yolk.

(4) Dorian is a heathen and insists on tomatoes. I'm a purist, but I do comply with this one...most of the time. My dad uses these amazing pumpernickel croutons, but I've never found comparable, so I go without. Feel free to make your own.

(5) Some families have coming-of-age rituals, like a family heirloom that gets handed down through generations on an eighteenth birthday or a diamond necklace for your quinceañera. In my family, the year Dad got you a Caesar salad bowl for Christmas was the year you knew you had grown up. It was the most anticipated Christmas gift of my life. My sister and brother pitched in with the necessary accoutrements: a rotary grater, a hunk of Reggiano, top-shelf extra virgin olive oil, matching wooden salad tongs. I probably wept with joy and gratitude. Yeah, we're food geeks like that.