Of all the foods to stab me in the back, I’d never have suspected Caesar salad.
Caesar salad is very dear to my heart. I credit it as being the very first salad that taught me salads can not only be a healthy side dish alternative, but also quite a lovely, filling meal on their own when you’re in the mood to fill a bowl with a portion of garden goods doused with enough dressing to make you forget you’re eating leaves. I’m not sure what it was about Caesar that captured my attention in a way that those boring house salads never did. Maybe it’s the minimalism of it. Maybe I just like the fact that romaine lettuce isn’t shredded carrots or purple cabbage. Maybe I just live for that last crouton you find at the bottom of the salad bowl, drowning in dressing and spackled with Parmesan cheese crumbs.
I’m so committed to Caesar as my go-to salad that I have the audacity to request salad substitutions at restaurants. Most of the world knows that many people like myself adore Caesar salad, so many dining establishments include a little disclaimer on their menu:
ENTREES COME WITH CHOICE OF SIDE, AND SOUP OR GARDEN SALAD
SUBSTITUTE CAESAR SALAD $2.50 EXTRA
I’m accustomed to seeing this note, and I’m willing to pay my Caesar fee, because I know when that lettuce arrives all smothered in fatty dressing, it’s going to be worth it from the first forkful of lettuce to the last piece of cheese. In all my years of Caesar substituting, I’ve felt that my Caesar fees have been nominal, but that all changed the other day when I got lunch with a friend.
We were both ordering the same thing: a chicken lunch that came with one side and our choice of soup or house salad. After having rehearsed it in my head seven times before the waitress came around, I recited my order aloud:
“Could I get the Fox’s chicken? For my side I’ll get the roasted red potatoes. And what’s the soup of the day?”
“Tomato basil.”
I stifled a grimace.
“Okay, then can I just get a Caesar salad?”
The waitress raised her eyebrows at me and lifted her pen from the pad.
“That… doesn’t come with it. Do you just want Caesar dressing?”
Not to split hairs here, but dumping Caesar dressing on any old salad does not a Caesar salad make.
“No… I just want a Caesar salad as my salad? It’s okay if it costs extra.”
“So just a side Caesar salad?”
“Yes?”
It’s with regret that I must admit this isn’t my first Caesar shaming. I’m not usually one to make a lot of special requests when eating at public places, but over the years the Caesar substitution has become every bit as mainstream as “no tomato” or “dressing on the side.” I know there are some fundamental differences between house salads and Caesar salads, but why must the garden and house salads reign supreme? There are more ingredients in them! Surely that should make them more difficult to prepare!
Regardless of our server’s rebuff, my salad arrived soon and it was delicious; if our waitress had spit in it, I was none the wiser.
Eventually, our lunch concluded, and I sat slumped over in my half of the booth, perfectly content with the world in that way that only a full stomach can provide. The cheesy garlic bread we shared was melty on the top with a flaky crust underneath. The chicken was crispy and perfect. The roasted red potatoes had a hint of rosem—
“Your Caesar salad cost 5.99,” my friend announced, scanning our bill.
“WHAT?”
Sure enough, there it was: a $5.99 charge for a salad that came with my meal. Ladies and gentleman, I’ve been eating Caesar salads for about seven years. I’ve eaten them in a variety of dining establishments all over the Chicagoland area. Never in my life have I been charged six dollars to switch a regular salad to a Caesar salad without any supplemental protein (like chicken) in it. Now, it’s not about the money. I have six dollars to spare that I’ll probably fritter away on something every bit as ridiculous as an astronomical Caesar salad substitution fee, but it’s the principle of it that was insulting, not the expense.
I looked at my friend, looked back at the bill, and said the one thing all non-confrontational people dread when they’re in the company of someone who’s dissatisfied and about to do something potentially embarrassing.
“I’m going to say something.”
And like most people who puff out their chests in scorn, I went quietly, paid the outrageous $5.99, and showed just how p.o.’d I was by leaving a 15% tip. (I hate questioning things in a complain-y manner, especially in restaurants. I could find a hair in my food, and I’d prefer to just handle it on my terms–as in, writing a blog post about it passive aggressively after the fact–rather then justifiably causing a scene at the table.)
Days after my card had been swiped and my bank account was $5.99 lighter, I still hadn’t gotten the closure I needed. Either the waitress made a mistake or the restaurant has an insane Caesar substitute policy, but this problem was even larger than that. At most restaurants, Caesar salads are more expensive than the house salad, and I needed to know why. I was relieved to find another curious Caesar supporter had asked this same question on Yahoo! Answers seven years ago, but I wasn’t prepared for the response.
S-s-SARDINES?????????????????????????
“Most Caesar recipes call for anchovies.”
I wasn’t prepared to discover this, and before you react as some of my friends and coworkers have, NO, I did NOT know that! This is not common knowledge! I think there are probably thousands of Caesar salad lovers in the world who have no idea there are anchovies–the most notoriously yuck-inducing pizza topping–in their savory, fattening salad dressing!
Even one of my best friends of 14 years was keeping this secret from me.
is there a support group for people who have just learned that Caesar salad dressing can have anchovies in it?
— Katie Hoffman (@bykatiehoffman) January 20, 2015
as someone who smugly doesn’t eat fish, finding out it’s been in my salad dressing all along is v distressing
— Katie Hoffman (@bykatiehoffman) January 20, 2015
I didn’t want it to be true, but it was there in the ingredient list in the Caesar dressing in my own refrigerator, between the organic spice and xanthan gum. Anchovy flavor.
I know you’re probably wondering, “What’s the big deal? This shouldn’t change anything. You like Caesar salads, so what’s the problem?” Well, let me explain it like this. Imagine you found out that feces–albeit in small quantities–was sometimes used to make your favorite food. Would that change you feel about it? Wouldn’t you feel at least a little betrayed by your own ignorance? Could you just keep eating it like nothing had changed? The horror of consuming feces is basically how I feel about eating anchovies (really just fish in general).
Now the petty $5.99 and the whole institution of Caesar substituting doesn’t really matter that much anymore, because I’m never going to look at Caesar salads the same. I haven’t gone near a Caesar salad since learning the truth. It turns my stomach even thinking about it. I’ve read The Jungle and The Omnivore’s Dilemma, and I’m usually comfortable with the fact that I’m in the dark about what specifically goes into my favorite foods (like hot dogs), but this repugnant revelation hits really close to home. I’m not sure how to live in a post-Caesar salad society.
I guess all I have left is to ask one question: Is there anything gross I should know about in vinaigrettes?
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