From iceberg to romaine

A traditional Caesar salad. Photo: Natasha Payés.

I grew up eating iceberg lettuce with carrots, cheddar cheese and Kraft ranch dressing. I had no idea there were different types of lettuces, like romaine and red leaf or even other cheeses. Those items didn’t exist at Cala’s, my local supermarket in San Francisco, or if they did, I didn’t notice them. Besides, I ate whatever my mom served me. No questions asked.

The shredded cheese and light-colored greens dressed in a tangy, white sauce tasted great to me. Who knew that years later I would trade in my iceberg lettuce for a darker one with a little more crunch. Not because I was adventurous and wanted to try something new, but out of a need to survive.

At 13 years old, I upended my life by moving to Marin County, one of the wealthiest counties in California. At the time, my biological mother couldn’t be the caregiver I needed her to be; therefore, I made the adult decision to live with Terry and Carole—two white women unrelated to me—who could provide me with a stable home. I met Terry and Carole through my older sister, who at the time was preparing to go to college. Terry was my sister’s mentor and eventually Carole became mine. When I realized my mother wasn’t capable of taking care of me, I called Terry and Carole and asked to live with them. I left my mom and my hometown with two black garbage bags filled with everything I owned: clothes, shoes and musical CDs.

They became my legal guardians; their reality became mine. Everything was foreign to me, including the food Terry and Carole ate. What the heck were salmon cakes and turkey burgers? Why weren’t the burgers made of beef? And why weren’t they seasoned with oregano, thyme, and onions, as my mom made them? And what was a Caesar salad? Why did it have a name?

For months, I ate only foods that were familiar to me: fries, frozen pizza, and iceberg lettuce with ranch dressing. Thankfully, Terry and Carole, whom I now call my parents, didn’t force their food on me. But they couldn’t recreate my mother’s recipes, nor could I, and after a while I grew tired of Red Baron pepperoni pizza and fries. I needed variety. So one night, as they dug into their turkey burgers and I picked at my pizza, I asked for the Caesar salad that sat in a bowl in the middle of table. Terry and Carole glanced over at me, smiled, and passed the bowl.  They watched me scoop the salad onto my plate as if they had stumbled upon a deer feasting in their backyard: they did not make a sound.

To my surprise, I liked the Caesar salad despite not having the tangy, white dressing I was accustomed to eating. From that point on, I stopped requesting iceberg lettuce and bottled dressing and my parents stopped buying them.

On the one hand, the Caesar salad was a healthier choice for me to eat, but on the other hand, I became very spoiled and would only eat Carole’s Caesar salads. I refused to eat those prepared by restaurants. Some chefs used mayonnaise in their dressing, but an authentic Caesar dressing consisted of egg, olive oil, garlic, anchovy paste, Dijon mustard, lemon juice, parmesan cheese and salt and pepper for taste. That’s the way Carole made it.

I’m 27 years old and I am still picky about how my Caesars are prepared. I still prefer Carole’s to anyone else’s, including my own. If I’m dining at a restaurant and have a craving for a Caesar, I’ll interrogate my waiter about the dressing. If the dressing is made with mayonnaise or comes from a bottle, I won’t eat it.

To me, the Caesar salad was not just an appetizer before the main course. It was the bridge into a world of food that I had yet to experience. It was also the food that helped me transition from my low-socioeconomic background into the upper-middle class. Although I now prefer romaine lettuce to iceberg, every so often I’ll order the salad from my childhood: iceberg lettuce, carrots, shredded cheese, and ranch dressing.

I’m still in touch with my biological mother. In fact, she lives within walking distance from Terry and Carole who moved to San Francisco about eight years ago. Whenever I’m in town, I make sure to see my mom who cooks some of my favorite recipes: oxtail and rice or ham hock with beans and rice. We usually skip out on the salad.

Natasha Payes