The Caesar Salad as a Prototype: Variations on a Theme

In Jean Aitchison's Words in the Mind she writes "To me a retriever or a German shepherd is a very doggy dog while a Pekinese is a less doggy dog. Notice that this kind of judgment has nothing to do with how well you like the thing; you can like a purple red better than a true red but still recognize that the color you like is not a true red." The prototype is distinct from its variations in our minds, even if we prefer the variation.

How do these preferences and recognitions apply to food? Let us take a Caesar salad. A basic Caesar consists of romaine lettuce, a creamy anchovy-garlic dressing, parmesan and croutons. I have eaten quite a few Caesar salads in my life for the following reasons: 1) If I want something healthy or light but am at a diner, theme park, airport kind of place, I can usually find a Caesar. 2) It's harder than most salads to mess up, especially considering that Romaine is hearty lettuce that stands up to a longer storage better than most. 3) I love its saltiness, the cool crunchiness of the romaine and the assertiveness of the garlic and anchovy. 

Growing up in California, I've seen my share of Mexican or more aptly, Tex-Mex, revamps, which means basically that the croutons and any meat added to it have a vague Spice Islands "chili powder" flavor, and everything has a slightly orangey hue. In tight travel situations, I've picked at salads that only used the bitter, leathery dark green exterior leaves, have had waxy, pre-grated, fraudulent parm, disturbingly sweet dressing and those spineless, chalky, onion-powdery, Pepperidge Farm-esque croutons.

In Paris I ate my only Caesar at the "Louisiana," where cherry tomatoes and avocados also made it into the bowl. I like these additions, probably because, hell, who doesn't like those two vegetable tucked into their salads? (mmmmmm... I'm having an avocado moment...) At Boulette's Larder, some Caesary salads I made included a salad of julienned puntarella and dandelion greens with an anchovy-garlic dressing, reggiano and breadcrumbs. I also made a salad with baby romaine, watermelon radish, lemon confit, breadcrumbs and an anchovy-garlic vinaigrette. Both of these made me think of the spirit of the Caesar, but would probably get little play in a Labovian experiment. I thought they were delicious.

A trend in haute cuisine is the refinement of the prototype. Two chefs who exhibit this are Gordon Ramsay and Thomas Keller. Ramsay makes tarts with digestive biscuits and currently has a British breakfast (mashers, bangers, kippers, beans etc.) on their way to a 3-mac and $50-per-plate presentation. Keller serves "Coffee and Donuts" (espresso granita and litte cinnamon sugar donuts) and "Peanut Butter and Jelly" (peanut butter truffles and concord grape pate a fruits) as mignardise. They both have Caesar salads. Keller has a cheese course of Parmagianno Reggiano: a custard of the cheese served with julienned hearts of romaine in a creamy anchovy dressing. Ramsay has a Casear with lobster and parmesan crisps studded with white truffle.

I wonder what the consistency profile would be for different Caesar salads. Does food linguistically follow the same pattern a cup would? I would propose that the authenticity of a food is highly personal, far more subjective than color or animal identification per se. Opinions and ideas about food are linked to memory, experience, senses, culture, religion, family and aesthetics. The prototype for a food will probably be the first a person has ever tasted or the best. Varying degrees of experience will determine a model prototype, and preference and a concept of truth will be one and the same.