Small Bites: There’s always Caesar salad

Whatever the news, you still have to eat.

“Small Bites” is about exploring the broader world of food and drink in Madison through approachable and specific experiences.

Every day in every person’s life is a system of “before” and “after,” a cycle that resets its criteria based on whatever meaning we ascribe to the events. Yesterday was “before” I started writing this piece; right now, in the middle of writing it, is “after.” The weight of that turning point, admittedly, is small: my life has not experienced any material change from writing these words. Other times, “before” and “after,” have a bigger effect on life. Before Tuesday, November 5, I had planned on writing a fun little ode to Caesar salad.

When Trump was elected in 2016, I was being carted around in the back of a minivan through the suburbs of Seoul. A Korean distributor for the coffee roasting company I worked for was excited to give me and my colleague a tour of all their cafés. We were wandering through a suburban mall when Pennsylvania went red. My coworker and I turned and looked at each other, our faces sallow after seeing the news on our phones. “Did something bad happen?” our interpreter asked us. Then, our hosts took us to a golf-themed steakhouse in the countryside, and I fell in love with dotori-muk, a cooked jelly made from acorn starch and dressed with toasted sesame oil. Whatever the news, you still have to eat.

I flew to Japan a few days later to visit my brother, who’s lived there since 2000. When the Japanese customs inspector saw my U.S. passport, he looked up at me with a terrified look in his eyes and asked in cautious English, “Are people happy about the election?” I can’t stop thinking about that moment. I can’t stop thinking about how vulnerable he must have felt to break the stoic authority customs inspectors are supposed to project. In Japan, I barely remember what I ate during those 10 days, as I was still a vegetarian at the time, and there weren’t a lot of vegetarian options. Still, you gotta eat. 

On 2024 election night, we had the bright idea to order a pizza. We were too nervous to cook, too rattled to consider other options. We ordered from the Ian’s at Garver Feed Mill, like half the city did, and when my partner walked back through our front door, she had a chicken Caesar salad balanced on top of the pizza box. “I thought maybe we should eat some salad, too,” she said. 

When people talk about comfort food, they usually bring up greasy fast food or hearty home cooking. For me, it’s hard to beat a chicken Caesar salad, especially if the chicken is breaded and fried. Crisp and refreshing romaine, crunchy croutons, tangy and umami-packed dressing—a good Caesar salad hits all the textures and flavors that light up the dopamine center in your brain. Topping with chicken fingers from the hot bar or a homemade chicken parmesan cutlet just ratchets up the brain chemical response. 

The week before the election, when I was in Seattle for work, I made myself a chicken Caesar salad almost every night from a grocery store’s hot and cold bars. Election news was ping-ponging all over the place: the Selzer Iowa poll was causing a tizzy, and news about Trump’s crumbling get-out-the-vote campaigns was breaking. For the first time, it felt like there was enough true momentum for Kamala Harris to win. I ate chicken Caesar salad because it was a comfort, a small reward at the end of a long work day. I ate chicken Caesar salad because it was an easy decision. I ate chicken Caesar salad because it’s reliable.

People like to say that, even if pizza is bad, it’s still pretty good. I don’t buy that. Bad pizza is terrible. But Caesar salad is reliable. The five-dollar salad kit from the grocery store only slightly differs from the pizza joint’s take which is just only slightly off from the best version you make yourself at home. Traditional Caesar dressing is a mixture of egg, oil, lemon, and Worcestershire sauce, but almost everyone has shifted to a mayonnaise-based dressing for its ability to coat lettuce better. With a mayo base, all you need to add is anchovy, parmesan, lemon, and salt and pepper to replicate a perfect creamy Caesar dressing. It’s almost impossible to mess up; and since the only other ingredients are generally romaine, croutons, and chicken, a chicken Caesar salad is maybe the most consistently delicious thing you can order on a menu.

I’m grateful we had chicken Caesar salad on election night because, in the rush of getting every order out the door, the bottom of our pizza got stuck on the peel and accordioned in the oven. With the dough smashed in some spots, it refused to rise, hindering that side of the pizza’s ability to actually bake. It was doughy, pale, and wholly unsatisfying to eat. The chicken Caesar salad, however, was perfect. 

Around Madison, my partner and I are also huge fans of the Caesar from Salvatore’s Tomato Pies, which comes with crispy parmesan frico and fragrant dill, as well as the Caesar from It’s Good For You, which has enough tang to cut through the richness of their pies. But a chicken Caesar salad is also a standby Friday night dinner for us at home. I like to use Samin Nosrat’s simple Caesar dressing recipe as well as the fried chicken cutlet part of Serious Eats‘ Chicken Piccata. And if I’m working efficiently, it only takes about 30 minutes or so from start to finish—that includes breading your own cutlets. 

On November 10, the Sunday after the election, I finally felt the dread I had been waiting for all week. Work kept me busy through Friday; on Saturday, I cleaned the house and did two weeks’ worth of laundry. Sunday landed, and without anything to focus on or keep busy with, I crumpled. I could feel an anxiety buzzing somewhere deep in my muscle tissue that was competing for top billing against an existential dread that, if left untreated, I assume can swallow me whole into a never-ending void. This is the first election of my life where the state I live in didn’t go the way I wanted it to for President. Even though Madison is an open, loving community where I feel safe, I am terrified of what driving just 20 minutes outside of the city could mean. I’m disabled; I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis in 2021, and I’m now heading into an extremely antagonistic political environment. But you gotta eat. 

So I did what we always do: I put on an album I love, I cranked up the volume, and I laid out three bowls for dredging and breading my cutlets. I peeled garlic and grated it into a bowl. I chopped anchovy filets and ground them into a paste with salt. I tore, washed, and spun romaine dry. I diced three slices of homemade sourdough bread and tossed them in the toaster oven with a drizzle of olive oil. I whisked, I fried, I tossed. Before Tuesday, the 5th, I had hope and faith; after, I had despair. Before 8 p.m. on Sunday, the 10th, I had despair; after, I had dinner. You gotta eat, and there’s always Caesar salad.