Red Romaine: Bloody Caesar

It’s hot, hot, hot here—still 82 degrees at 10:00 at night, after a blistering 90s earlier today. Not complaining: I love the heat. But when it came time to turn on the grill to cook my pork tenderloin, I decided I just wasn’t that hungry. I was planning to make a salad anyway, but decided to make it my meal. One of the very best stand-alone salads, in my opinion, is a Caesar salad. It’s got protein. It’s filling. It’s got lemon and garlic. It’s tangy and delicious. And it’s finger food. My favorite way to eat.

OK, I may have just lost you at the finger food part. Yes, Caesar salad can, in fact was meant to be, eaten without utensils. You can dunk the whole leaves into the dressing, like giant crudités. Or you can do what I do—at least when I’m alone—and dress the leaves, then pick them up and eat them. It’s a bit messy, like eating ribs or something, but only a bit. And it’s very satisfying.

There is very, very nice red romaine lettuce from California available now. We’ll have our own within the month, but for now, imported will do.

 

Bloody Caesar Salad

I mix this is in a lasagna plan so the leaves don’t get bruised. Serve it in individual flat bowls or small oval platters. Use only good quality bread for the croutons, or skip them. Serves 2.

8-10 perfect leaves of red romaine or romaine, washed, dried, and chilled
1 clove garlic, peeled and lightly smashed
1/3 cup extra virgin olive oil, placed in a glass measure
Enough lemon or lime juice to reach the ½ cup mark when added to the oil
1 large egg, beaten
½ tea salt
8 or more twists of the pepper mill
½ cup freshly grated parmesan

Homemade croutons—sliced French bread, salted, peppered, and toasted

Add the garlic, salt, and pepper to the oil and stir; set aside for about an hour.

Just before serving, toss the lettuce leaves with the egg in a lasagna pan or other large shallow dish. Add the lemon/line juice to the oil/garlic mixture and whisk to emulsify; remove the garlic and pour the dressing over the coated lettuce and toss well; taste for seasoning. Lift the leaves out, shaking them a bit, and place them in the serving bowls. Garnish with a toasted crouton or two; you can toss them briefly in any dressing remaining in the lasagna pan if you like. Generously sprinkle the salad with the parmesan, about ¼ cup for each serving. Theoretically, of course, you could mix the egg, the vinaigrette, and the cheese all together and toss it with the leaves. I just like it this way.

                                                         

Surprise! Strawberries

I wasn’t really expecting them. Not yet. It wasn’t just that it had been so cold and rainy for so long, although that was a big part of it. It was more that it was only the first days of June. It seemed so early. But there they were, along with that other eagerly awaited assurance, beautiful and flavorful lettuce, that the summer growing season is, after all, coming to come again this year: strawberries. Surprise!

Of course, they are not cheap. Yet. Maybe never this year unless it stops raining and warms up some more. But at $5.50 a quart, worth every penny.

Not that you’re going to make a kettle full of preserves at this price. For that, we’ll wait to see what happens with the weather and the crop—meaning, to see if the price of that quart drops to $3.00 like, happily, last year. Or even $4.00. For now, there are other delights for a single quart, including that essential for the first-of-season, eating them out-of-hand. The old standby, strawberry shortcake. Strawberry ice cream, should we get the elusive hot day (we can dream, can’t we?). Or something as simple as a strawberry syrup for plain vanilla ice cream or pound cake, or an intense strawberry butter for slathering on biscuits or thick white toast, both started by simply pushing ripe strawberries through a sieve. Biscuits and strawberry butter are, in fact, just a deconstructed version of strawberry shortcake, a variation on the theme of simple biscuit dough, fruit, and cream—in this case churned beyond the whipping stage to fresh unsalted butter. It makes for a nice, quick, springtime breakfast or afternoon treat with lemonade or iced tea.

But confronted with strawberries and lettuce, an embarrassment of June riches, what else is there to do but join them—it is June, after all—in wholly flavorful matrimony. Sitting down to these first gifts of summer is as sentimental and life affirming as eating cake at a June wedding—preferably one held, and eaten, out on a Little Compton lawn. Pour the champagne, and say a toast to a new beginning. Summer, or life. They’re both the same.

Red June Wedding Salad

This is very pretty, and very good. I like to use the Boston red leaf lettuce from Coll Walker’s farm to complement the intensely pink strawberry dressing. Serves 4.

3 T extra-virgin olive oil, preferably organic, unfiltered (see Note)
1 T half-and-half or light cream
3 medium-large strawberries, trimmed of stems and crown
½ tea aged balsamic vinegar (see Note)
½ tea white balsamic vinegar (see Note)
¼ tea salt
6-8 twists of the pepper mill

1 head red Boston lettuce or other red leaf lettuce, washed and dried

In a small bowl. whisk the cream into the olive oil with a small whisk until combined. Slice the strawberries in half or quarters; you should not need to core them, as those awful white cores are virtually nonexistent in local berries, which are, deliciously, red right through. Using your little whisk, press down on the berries—local berries are soft—and whisk them into the oil/cream mixture until they have almost disappeared, turning the mixture an intense pink with a few flecks of red. If you want bigger pieces of berry in your dressing, stop when it is as you like. Season with salt and pepper to taste.

Tear the lettuce into big pieces and place in a bowl. Pour about half the dressing in and toss; add more dressing gradually until the lettuce is nicely coated, with little red bits clinging to the leaves, but not saturated. The dressing will keep well in the refrigerator for several days; it will thicken, but may be used as is, or thin it a little by whisking in a few drops of warm water.

Note: Both organic olive oil and old balsamic are quite viscous—my balsamic, brought back from a trip to Italy, is like a thick syrup. If you do not have either, use regular extra-virgin olive oil, and you will likely need to use more vinegar (either regular balsamic and white balsamic or all balsamic) than is called for in the recipe—maybe 2 teaspoons total. Taste as you go. I am very fond of the Casa Pareja olive oil from Spain (where all the best olive oils hail from, in my opinion); I discovered this outstanding value oil while living in Philadelphia; you can mail order it from DiBruno’s if you cannot find it where you live.