I didn’t expect to fall in love with Caesar salad in a dusty border city known more for nightlife than leafy greens. But there I was, sitting in a dimly lit corner of the Hotel Caesar’s restaurant in Tijuana, a place that looked like it had seen everything and forgotten nothing. There was jazz playing softly, clinking glasses, the smell of garlic and anchovies in the air. And a waiter named Luis with slicked-back hair and a big grin rolling a cart up to our table like he was about to perform a magic trick.
I knew the salad was invented here. What I didn’t know was how theatrical and kind of emotional it would feel to watch it come together in person. Luis cracked the egg into the big wooden bowl like he was opening a treasure. He whisked and tossed with such care it felt like he was stirring up history. The lettuce was crisp. The dressing had bite. And that first forkful hit like a revelation. I looked at my friend and said, “Why does it taste so alive?”
Where Caesar Was Born
Hotel Caesar’s sits right on Avenida Revolución, a little faded but still proud. It opened in the 1920s, when Prohibition sent Americans over the border for booze and glamour. The salad came about on a busy Fourth of July weekend, Luis told us, when the kitchen was almost out of food and Caesar Cardini — an Italian immigrant — had to improvise with what he had.
He didn’t expect it to become world-famous. But he knew flavor. Garlic, anchovies, lemon, Dijon, a coddled egg. Nothing fancy, just bold and fresh and honest. That’s how the best dishes are born, right? Out of necessity. Out of instinct. Out of a need to feed someone something real.
Meeting Luis in Tijuana
Luis was more than a waiter. He was part historian, part storyteller, part salad conductor. He told us how he’d been working at Caesar’s for 18 years. His uncle had worked there before him. His favorite part of the job, he said, was watching people’s faces when they took that first bite. “Sometimes they close their eyes,” he smiled, “like they’re kissing it.”
He said that in the early days, the salad didn’t have anchovies. Just Worcestershire for depth. But most people want the salty kick now. “Every generation adds something,” he shrugged, “but the bones are still the same.”
Bringing It Back to LA
When I got home to Los Angeles, I couldn’t stop thinking about that salad. I wanted that same feeling of something simple made sacred. So I decided to try making it myself. Not the bottled kind. Not the lazy kind. The real one. Or as close as I could get in my kitchen without Luis and his magic cart.
I didn’t have a huge wooden bowl or the bravado. But I had a whisk and a craving. I lit a candle and put on some slow jazz, just to set the mood. I was nervous about the raw egg and the anchovies. But once I started whisking, it felt kind of intimate. Like I was inviting someone into my home, even if that someone was just a memory.
What Went Into It
- 1 egg (coddled in boiling water for 1 minute)
- 1 clove garlic, finely minced
- 2 anchovy fillets (or more if you’re bold)
- 1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
- 2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce
- Juice of 1 lemon
- 1/3 cup olive oil
- Freshly ground black pepper
- Romaine lettuce, torn not chopped
- Parmesan, shaved not grated
- Homemade croutons (bread cubes tossed in olive oil and toasted)
The coddled egg was easier than I thought. Just a quick dunk in boiling water, then into the bowl. The anchovies melted into the garlic. The mustard and lemon brought it all to life. When I drizzled in the oil slowly, the dressing thickened into something silky and golden. I tossed the romaine gently, like it was something fragile. And when I plated it, it actually looked kind of beautiful.
My First Bite in LA
It didn’t taste exactly like Tijuana. It tasted like home trying its best. The croutons were crunchier. The lettuce a little colder. But that same balance of salty, tangy, creamy hit me right in the chest. I closed my eyes and laughed. Luis would’ve been proud. Or maybe he would’ve added more anchovies.
I made it again the next week. Then again for a friend who swore they hated anchovies. They didn’t anymore. It became this quiet little ritual. When the world felt overwhelming, I’d make Caesar salad. It felt grounding. Ancient. Oddly hopeful.
Variations I’ve Tried
I’ve played with it a bit since then. Not to make it better. Just to explore.
- Used kale once instead of romaine. It held up better but needed more lemon.
- Tried grilled romaine. Smoky and weird in a good way.
- Added a touch of honey once to balance the salt. Not traditional but nice.
- Used anchovy paste when I didn’t have fillets. Worked fine.
- Swapped the egg for mayo in a rush. It was okay but missed the magic.
I’ve learned to toast the croutons just a little longer than I think. To shave the Parmesan wide and thin. To toss gently but completely. To eat it with someone else if I can.
Back to Tijuana in My Mind
Sometimes when I make it, I think about the old dining room at Caesar’s. The warm hum of conversation. The smell of garlic and wood polish. Luis nodding proudly at a finished bowl. The way he poured the dressing like he was baptizing the lettuce.
I think about how many stories are wrapped up in food. How much memory is tied to taste. That salad wasn’t just greens and dressing. It was invention. Legacy. A little rebellion served with a smile. And it stayed with me in a way I didn’t expect.
Maybe that’s why I keep making it. To hold onto something I didn’t even know I needed. To remember that great things can come from scraps. And that sometimes the most lasting souvenirs don’t fit in a suitcase. They live in your kitchen. And they taste like lemon and salt and time.
Caesar Salad
Ingredients
Equipment
Method
- Preheat oven to 375°F (190°C)
- Toss bread cubes with olive oil and a pinch of salt.
- Spread on a baking sheet in a single layer.
- Bake for 12–15 minutes, flipping halfway, until golden and crispy. Set aside to cool.
- Bring a small pot of water to a boil.
- Lower the egg into the boiling water using a spoon.
- Boil for 60 seconds. Remove and cool under cold running water.
- Crack into a large mixing bowl.
- Add garlic, anchovies, Dijon mustard, Worcestershire, and lemon juice to the bowl with the egg.
- Whisk until smooth.
- Slowly drizzle in the olive oil while whisking continuously to emulsify.
- Season with black pepper to taste.
- Tear romaine into bite-sized pieces.
- Rinse thoroughly and spin or pat dry.
- Keep chilled until ready to toss.
- Add lettuce to the bowl with the dressing.
- Toss gently using tongs or clean hands until evenly coated.
- Add half the croutons and Parmesan, toss again lightly.
- Plate the salad and top with remaining croutons and cheese.
Notes
- Coddling the egg: Adds richness; use pasteurized egg for safety.
- Anchovies: Start small and adjust to taste. Anchovy paste works too.
- Dry lettuce: Wet leaves dilute the dressing, spin or pat dry thoroughly.
- Croutons: Slightly stale bread and deep golden toast = best texture.
- Dressing tip: Emulsify slowly for a creamy, stable dressing.
- Serve fresh: Toss and serve immediately for ideal texture and flavor.