The wood-covered cart arrives at the table with a ceremonious air, pushed by a waiter, usually a gentleman in a white shirt, black vest and tie. It contains all the necessary elements to prepare a beloved salad that was invented right here, according to tradition, in the restaurant inside the César Hotel in Tijuana, Baja California, Mexico.
Here, servers prepare your salad tableside, while you gawk at your phone with one hand and perhaps hold a dirty martini or glass of red wine in the other.
Only in recent decades have the frontier origins of the Caesar salad entered the public consciousness. It is often a crippling moment for people when they first hear the story of the current consensus, as Caesar is fiercely stereotyped as a California lifestyle “thing” that is now ubiquitous on American menus.
Curious to see how the original Caesar fares on his ancestral land, the vibrant, tourist-themed Avenida Revolución in downtown Tijuana, I recently visited for an early dinner to find out. Tijuana is the city of my true heritage: my parents are from here and my grandparents emigrated from other regions of Baja and northern Mexico to help populate the city. ranchería This was barely a stop along the way when it was founded about 150 years ago.
This year, coincidentally, marks the centenary of the Caesar salad at the Hotel Caesar.
It was around 1924 when cross-border Italian émigré César Cardini is said to have first prepared the unmistakable dressing that has since adorned millions of servings of romaine lettuce, according to the restaurant's contemporary chef and owner, Javier Plascencia. The hotel and its restaurant fell into disrepair over the decades and changed ownership. In 2010, Tijuana's then-rising star Plascencia took control of the restaurant and revived the ritual of making Caesar salad at the table, rekindling local love for it.
“We sell about 2,500 salads a month,” Plascencia said. “Everyone at the table.”
The diners at the Hotel César restaurant in Tijuana have fallen in love with the table preparation of the Caesar salad, created by César Cardini in 1924.
(Stephanie Breijo / Los Angeles Times)
Most of the people inside the restaurant that night seemed to be middle-class Tijuana residents, who came out casually but with a subtle air of refinement. The restaurant is located on the ground floor of the hotel, just past a velvet-roped entrance staffed by a maitre d' in an impeccable suit. The walls are half-panelled with polished dark wood, beneath dozens of old photographs and reproductions.
“Your grandfather was here the whole time,” my mother said, a little nonchalantly. This was news to me, and for a moment I imagined the man they called El Tiburón in the cantinas of Tijuana, stopping in here for a drink decades ago.
Upon ordering cocktails, my mother and I immediately said we would make the Caesar tableside. (A “one-time” serving of salad, prepared in the kitchen, is available, but why prohibit yourself from having fun?)
The service begins with a large wooden bowl and two wooden mixing paddles. Wood seems absolutely crucial to a good Caesar salad, although the reason is not entirely clear.
First, a delicious anchovy paste is added. This is followed by big splashes of Dijon mustard, minced garlic, a squeeze of lime juice, crushed black pepper, and grated Parmesan cheese. The mixture begins to take shape when the server elegantly adds an egg yolk. He holds the egg between two spoons and gives it a surgical snap so that the white comes out with another spoon. Here it moves.
While continuing to stir, the waiter pours on Worcestershire sauce (commonly called “sauce anglaise” or “sauce anglaise” in Mexico) and, as he intensifies the mixture with one hand, pours in a long stream of olive oil, taking out the bottle. up and down in the air in multiple rounds.
The egg yolk quickly helps emulsify the dressing mixture. If you're sitting close enough to the cart, your nose will begin to pick up those spicy, umami flavor notes that make Caesar salad so irresistible to many. After a few seconds of vigorous mixing, the dressing will be ready. All that remains is to remove the romaine lettuce.
The waiter places four or five stems of crisp vegetables in the wooden bowl and begins to cover it with the dressing with the paddles. Once finished, place the lettuce piece by piece, forming a mound on a long plate. Finally, the salad is topped with two large croutons (yes, the crouton action is minimal here at Hotel Caesar) and a sprinkling of more grated Parmesan cheese.
At first bite, the connection is clear. Every Caesar salad you've ever had, whether at the celebrity-studded Ivy or a delivery deal from pizza chain Little Caesars, may have its roots in this bite.
In a few minutes everything was over.
Plascencia tells me the restaurant is planning a festival to honor the 100th anniversary of the Caesar salad around the Fourth of July. The event is expected to include a commemorative wine, a new book with archival images and recipes, and guest chefs, she said.
If you're looking for an alternative 4th of July getaway this year, it might be worth considering opting for some vintage Gilded Age vibes south of the border. You could harken back to the flavors of a time when Prohibition was in effect and everyone wanted to be in Tijuana to drink, gamble, watch the races, and maybe have a Caesar salad along the way.
