Caesar Salad Quotes

Lies are like anchovies in a Caesar salad. You may not be able to see them, but your soul knows they are there.

Bernstein passed the reporters’ information about Segretti on to Meyers, who was staking out Segretti’s apartment and talking to his neighbors. Marina del Rey, where Segretti lived, was on the water and, if you believed the ads, represented the ultimate in swinging-singles living. Lots of sailing, saunas, mixed-doubles tennis, pools, parties, candlelight, long-stemmed glasses, Caesar salads, tanned bodies, mixed double-triple-multiple kinkiness in scented sandalwood splendor.

Marina del Rey, where Segretti lived, was on the water and, if you believed the ads, represented the ultimate in swinging-singles living. Lots of sailing, saunas, mixed-doubles tennis, pools, parties, candlelight, long-stemmed glasses, Caesar salads, tanned bodies, mixed double-triple-multiple kinkiness in scented sandalwood splendor.

had cooked bacon until crisp and then crumbled it and set it aside while he sautéed onion, pepper and garlic until tender. He had then combined bread crumbs, oregano, grated parmesan cheese and the sautéed vegetables with the fresh chopped clams he’d gotten from the supermarket’s fish department. He filled the shells with the mixture, sprinkled them with parsley and paprika and, after drizzling them with virgin olive oil, placed them in the hot oven until the tops were browned and the mixture bubbly. The Caesar salad with

Later in the meal, the full extent of Massimo's whimsy-driven modernist vision will be on display- in a handheld head of baby lettuce whose tender leaves hide the concentrated tastes of a Caesar salad, a glazed rectangle of eel made to look as if it were swimming up the Po River, a handful of classics with ridiculous names such as "Oops! I dropped the lemon tart"- but it's the ragù that moves me the most. The noodles have a brilliant, enduring chew, and the sauce, rich with gelatin from the tougher cuts of meat, clings to them as if its life were at stake.

Soon, things were heating up in the kitchen. The first course was a variation on a French recipe that had been around since Escoffier, Baccala Brandade. Angelina created a silky forcemeat with milk, codfish, olive oil, pepper, and slow-roasted garlic, a drizzle of lemon juice, and a shower of fresh parsley, then served it as a dip with sliced sourdough and warmed pita-bread wedges, paired with glasses of bubbly Prosecco. The second course had been a favorite of her mother's called Angels on Horseback- freshly shucked oysters, wrapped in thin slices of prosciutto, then broiled on slices of herb-buttered bread. When the oysters cooked, they curled up to resemble tiny angels' wings. Angelina accented the freshness of the oyster with a dab of anchovy paste and wasabi on each hors d'oeuvre. She'd loved the Angels since she was a little girl; they were a heavenly mouthful. This was followed by a Caesar salad topped with hot, batter-dipped, deep-fried smelts. Angelina's father used to crunch his way through the small, silvery fish like French fries. Tonight, Angelina arranged them artfully around mounds of Caesar salad on each plate and ushered them out the door. For the fifth course, Angelina had prepared a big pot of her Mediterranean Clam Soup the night before, a lighter version of Manhattan clam chowder. The last two courses were Parmesan-Stuffed Poached Calamari over Linguine in Red Sauce, and the piece de resistance, Broiled Flounder with a Coriander Reduction.

Everything looked wonderful until I noticed the anchovies. “Really?” I said. “Hairy little fish?” “It’s not a real Caesar salad without anchovies.” “I appreciate hairy dogs; I don’t appreciate hairy fish.

Thursday night is pasta night," I say. "I left you guys a lasagna Bolognese, garlic knots, and roasted broccolini. Ian is going to make the Caesar salad table side." Thursday is the day I come in only to train Ian, so on Wednesdays I always leave something for an easy pasta night. Either a baked dish, or a sauce and parboiled pasta for easy finishing, some prepped salad stuff, and a simple dessert. "Awesome. Does the lasagna have the chunks of sausage in it?" I narrow my eyes at him. "Robert Adam Farber, would I leave you a lasagna without chunks of sausage in it?" I say with fake insult in my voice. "No, El, you totally have my back on all things meat. What's for dessert?" "Lemon olive oil cake with homemade vanilla bean gelato.

On the other side of the room, Molly saw an old man with sagging cheeks seated beside his frail wife, bony hand in bony hand. The sight of these people, who must have trudged together across the years, who’d aged to the point where they couldn’t age much more, awakened within Molly an alarming truth that somehow had never before hit her with such inevitability: one day she was going to come to a hospital like this one and her life would end. There would be something wrong with her heart or she’d have cancer of something important, and in one unceremonious moment, in a room so antiseptically bright and sterile that there’d be nowhere for her fear to burrow, she’d be carried out of this world for all of time. A stranger would then draw a sheet over her face and shuffle off to the break room for a snack, leaving the freshly dead Molly Erin Winger, born in Columbus, Ohio, unto Norman and Katherine Winger, alone among machines and boxes of rubber gloves that were no more alive or less dead than she. Then, a day or two later, some of the people with whom she’d shared the earth would put her in the ground. They’d watch her casket being lowered into the open soil and leave her there, all by herself, on a quiet hill among gravestones. Then those people would drive to someone’s house to nibble at turkey wraps and Caesar salad, lament the loss of a life, and ask if there was any barbecue sauce.

A girl had to do what a girl had to do and it looked as if this girl’s immediate future included chicken Caesar salad, chocolate cake, and Cary Grant.

The Caesar salad arrived, aromatic with garlic, studded with caramel-colored anchovies. The crisp lettuce popped in her mouth with freshness. The perfect balance for the wontons, and a way to ready her palate for the crab to come. The dressing sizzled with hot pepper, tangy vinegar, creamy mayo, and bright lemons.

I think it’s a really good idea.” I nip at his earlobe, lick his neck, grind against the thick press of him. There won’t ever be some magic event where suddenly I quit being sad over Jimmy. So what’s the point in waiting? “We could die tomorrow. Eat a rotten mushroom. Get murdered by the WHW. Starve. Meet horny cannibals. Anything could happen. Let’s make like Caesar and seize the fucking salad.

Any salad can be a Caesar salad if you stab it enough times

Our greatest emperor, Caesar, is only linked to a salad. And he didn’t even invent it.

They made Caesar salad with Cashel Blue cheese. They made Irish lobster confit in Kerrygold butter. They made black pudding the way Fergus remembered it from his childhood, and lamb sausages so delicate they almost melted in your mouth. Everything they put on the menu got raves.

Starters Corn chowder with red peppers and smoked Gouda $8 Shrimp bisque, classic Chinatown shrimp toast $9 Blue Bistro Caesar $6 Warm chèvre over baby mixed greens with candy-striped beets $8 Blue Bistro crab cake, Dijon cream sauce $14 Seared foie gras, roasted figs, brioche $16 Entrées Steak frites $27 Half duck with Bing cherry sauce, Boursin potato gratin, pearls of zucchini and summer squash $32 Grilled herbed swordfish, avocado silk, Mrs. Peeke's corn spoon bread, roasted cherry tomatoes $32 Lamb "lollipops," goat cheese bread pudding $35 Lobster club sandwich, green apple horseradish, coleslaw $29 Grilled portabello and Camembert ravioli with cilantro pesto sauce $21 Sushi plate: Seared rare tuna, wasabi aioli, sesame sticky rice, cucumber salad with pickled ginger and sake vinaigrette $28 *Second Seating (9:00 P.M.) only Shellfish fondue Endless platter of shrimp, scallops, clams. Hot oil for frying. Selection of four sauces: classic cocktail, curry, horseradish, green goddess $130 (4 people) Desserts- All desserts $8 Butterscotch crème brûlée Mr. Smith's individual blueberry pie à la mode Fudge brownie, peanut butter ice cream Lemon drop parfait: lemon vodka mousse layered with whipped cream and vodka-macerated red berries Coconut cream and roasted pineapple tart, macadamia crust Homemade candy plate: vanilla marshmallows, brown sugar fudge, peanut brittle, chocolate peppermints

We have pretzels and mustard. We have doughnuts. And if we really, really like you, we have chips and dip. This is fun food. It isn't stuffy. It isn't going to make anyone nervous. The days of the waiter as a snob, the days of the menu as an exam/ the guest has to pass are over. But at the same time, we're not talking about cellophane bags here, are we? These are hand-cut potato chips with crème fraîche and a dollop of beluga caviar. This is the gift we send out. It's better than Christmas." He offered the plate to Adrienne and she helped herself to a long, golden chip. She scooped up a tiny amount of the glistening black caviar. Just tasting it made her feel like a person of distinction. Adrienne hoped the menu meeting might continue in this vein- with the staff tasting each ambrosial dish. But there wasn't time; service started in thirty minutes. Thatcher wanted to get through the menu. "The corn chowder and the shrimp bisque are cream soups, but neither of these soups is heavy. The Caesar is served with pumpernickel croutons and white anchovies. The chèvre salad is your basic mixed baby greens with a round of breaded goat cheese, and the candy-striped beets are grown locally at Bartlett Farm. Ditto the rest of the vegetables, except for the portobello mushrooms that go into the ravioli- those are flown in from Kennett Square, Pennsylvania. So when you're talking about vegetables, you're talking about produce that's grown in Nantucket soil, okay? It's not sitting for thirty-six hours on the back of a truck. Fee selects them herself before any of you people are even awake in the morning. It's all very Alice Waters, what we do here with our vegetables." Thatcher clapped his hands. He was revving up, getting ready for the big game. In the article in Bon Appétit, Thatcher had mentioned that the only thing he loved more than his restaurant was college football. "Okay, okay!" he shouted. It wasn't a menu meeting; it was a pep rally! "The most popular item on the menu is the steak frites. It is twelve ounces of aged New York strip grilled to order- and please note you need a temperature on that- served with a mound of garlic fries. The duck, the sword, the lamb lollipops- see, we're having fun here- are all served at the chef's temperature. If you have a guest who wants the lamb killed- by which I mean well done- you're going to have to take it up with Fiona. The sushi plate is spelled out for you- it's bluefin tuna caught forty miles off the shore, and the sword is harpooned in case you get a guest who has just seen a Nova special about how the Canadian coast is being overfished.

brown hair, bright brown soulful eyes, and one of those trendy barely beards. He had always appreciated the association with the Savior and would hate to give it up, even if only in his own mind, because of a clashing career choice. The server reappeared with a frosty mug in each hand. “Two Fearless beers.” “We’re going to go with large filets,” Tom said with the satisfaction of a man on an unconstrained expense account. “Medium-rare for mine. And a Caesar salad to start.” “Same here,” Lars said. Carla nodded without taking notes, then disappeared. Tom resumed his pitch while Lars relaxed. “You’re an honors graduate from

In which country was the Caesar salad invented? Mexico. What is the tiny plastic tip covering the end of a shoelace called? An aglet. What is the dot over a lowercase i and j called? A tittle.

Reed and Hoyer both had the steak the major had raved about, while Allie had a Caesar salad.

Having a big salad every day is a great way to burn through the Daily Dozen. To a base of mesclun greens and arugula, I add tomato, red bell pepper, beans, and barberries, along with toasted nuts if I’m using a fat-free dressing. My current favorite dressing recipe is a Caesar spin-off shared by Dr. Michael Klaper from the TrueNorth Health Center: 2 tablespoons almond meal 3 cloves crushed garlic 3 tablespoons dijon mustard 3 tablespoons nutritional yeast flakes 2 tablespoons white miso 3 tablespoons lemon juice 1/3 cup water Blend and enjoy! (If you have a high-speed blender, you could probably use whole almonds instead of meal.)

veggie burger hamburger chicken tikka masala sweet-and-sour chicken muffin brownie avocado salad Caesar salad lentil soup wonton soup BLT buffalo chicken wrap margherita pizza barbecue chicken pizza guacamole mozzarella sticks

scenes from the Legends of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table many lovely pictures have been painted, showing much diversity of figures and surroundings, some being definitely sixth-century British or Saxon, as in Blair Leighton’s fine painting of the dead Elaine; others—for example, Watts’ Sir Galahad—show knight and charger in fifteenth-century armour; while the warriors of Burne Jones wear strangely impracticable armour of some mystic period. Each of these painters was free to follow his own conception, putting the figures into whatever period most appealed to his imagination; for he was not illustrating the actual tales written by Sir Thomas Malory, otherwise he would have found himself face to face with a difficulty. King Arthur and his knights fought, endured, and toiled in the sixth century, when the Saxons were overrunning Britain; but their achievements were not chronicled by Sir Thomas Malory until late in the fifteenth century. Sir Thomas, as Froissart has done before him, described the habits of life, the dresses, weapons, and armour that his own eyes looked upon in the every-day scenes about him, regardless of the fact that almost every detail mentioned was something like a thousand years too late. Had Malory undertaken an account of the landing of Julius Caesar he would, as a matter of course, have protected the Roman legions with bascinet or salade, breastplate, pauldron and palette, coudiére, taces and the rest, and have armed them with lance and shield, jewel-hilted sword and slim misericorde; while the Emperor himself might have been given the very suit of armour stripped from the Duke of Clarence before his fateful encounter with the butt of malmsey. Did not even Shakespeare calmly give cannon to the Romans and suppose every continental city to lie majestically beside the sea? By the old writers, accuracy in these matters was disregarded, and anachronisms were not so much tolerated as unperceived. In illustrating this edition of “The Legends of King Arthur and his Knights,” it has seemed best, and indeed unavoidable if the text and the pictures are to tally, to draw what Malory describes, to place the fashion

Who eats salad?" Casey asked, tearing lettuce leaves and putting them in a bowl. "Girls do." Ty seasoned the last of the steaks and set the plate aside before opening up the bag of shrimp he had in the sink. "Why do you make all this food for Ms. Monroe but not for us?" Ty didn't have time to get into the things men do for women, making Caesar salad being about the least of them. "You're eating it tonight, aren't you?" "I'm not eating the salad, that's for sure.

Here’s my current “food plan”: I eat a hot-fudge sundae almost every day of the week and when there is no hot fudge, I make do with syrups and heavily moose-tracked ice-cream product. I also eat salad every day. So if I were to open a restaurant, I’d call it “Caesar Creamers.