Some dishes are simply sacred

The other day, we took little Miss Holly out to celebrate her First Holy Communion —she chose a celebratory mocktail and the ever-reliable chicken goujons and chips.

Mr T, ever the minimalist, decided to ‘keep it light’ and ordered a Caesar salad.

A simple request, one might think. It is not often that he comments on food but he wasn’t impressed.

I wondered what someone could do to mess up one of the simplest salads.

It arrived with a chicken breast perched atop a bed of lettuce, with bacon masquerading as ‘crispy’ and a whisper of Nduja crumb, barely visible to the human eye.

The dressing? Bland. Insipid.

It’s not rocket science; it’s a recipe as old as the hills — or, at least, as old as 1924. The inventor Caesar Cardini, the man, behind the salad legend would have been rather shocked.

He was an Italian restaurateur working in Tijuana, Mexico (yes, really). Cardini found himself short on ingredients one busy day and threw together what he had: romaine lettuce, garlic, eggs, olive oil, lemon juice, Worcestershire sauce, black pepper, Parmesan cheese, and croutons.

No bacon. No chicken.

And certainly no artistic sprinkle of Nduja dust.

Now, one might wonder how an Italian immigrant ended up in Mexico especially as he was an American immigrant.

Cardini opened Caesar’s Restaurant in Tijuana during Prohibition in the US (1920–1933). Americans, parched for a proper drink, would flock to border towns like Tijuana for a little tipple and some good food.

Cardini, ever the savvy businessman, set up shop where he could serve alcohol legally — and make a name for himself.

He retired to Los Angeles where he began bottling and selling his famous Caesar salad dressing.

According to his daughter, Rose Cardini in an article in the Telegraph from 2003, there weren’t even anchovies in the original — the Worcestershire sauce covered that umami base.

But let’s be honest, a well-blended anchovy fillet or two takes the dressing from good to godly.

Julia Child, no less, recalled being served the salad in the 1920s with whole romaine leaves, dressed tableside and meant to be eaten with your fingers – this was also confirmed by Rose Cardini.

And here we are in modern Ireland, a century later, being served a Caesar salad that tasted like regret and missed opportunity.

I’m all for innovation in the kitchen, but let’s leave some things sacred. You wouldn’t put a Jammy Dodger in a tiramisu, would you (please don’t feel inspired now!)?

So here’s to Caesar Cardini, who — with culinary desperation and a dash of flair — created a salad worthy of legends.

And here’s a gentle plea to chefs everywhere: if you're going to call it a Caesar, give it the dignity it deserves.

Otherwise, just call it Chicken and Something on a Plate — at least then we’ll know what we’re in for!

Saying all that – I have had some terrific versions and I am partial to a crispy crouton and a poached egg on top so that the runny egg yolk is oozing through the romaine.