Lazy Man's Caesar (for When You Can't Be Lazy)

I’ve been pretty harried this week. I feel like I've been smoking into rooms and sliding through doors, often with only a few moments to spare (or not); a poof of stress trailing in my wake. Picture an entrance that Kramer from Seinfeld might make; I just hope my hair isn't sticking up quite as much, though it's entirely possible. Sleep has felt like a drug, when I’ve been lucky enough to score some.

I’m not complaining. I’ve just been rather busy lately between work, school and writing. Still, I refuse to fall into the wasteland of bad Chinese food and frozen pizza. Eat well or bust.

Perhaps this will eventually be my tragic flaw, but—for the time being—my crutch is this quick homemade dressing. It’s really a lazy man’s Caesar and is ridiculously easy to make, even if you are hustling and bustling all over the place. So please don't judge that I use mayonnaise instead of raw egg yolks. The last thing I need is to be separating eggs and streaming their yolks into my food processor (when I really should be reading about the use of ginger in medieval times or better yet: sleeping).

This Caesar—on the other hand—is no slouch, it's creamy and bright with a hint of lemon and a good kick from the pecorino and Dijon mustard. For a moment, it plants me at a table at Figs on Charles Street, where Todd English makes a mean Caesar salad. I’m eating his salad, glass of red wine in hand—and perhaps some olive oil-dipped focaccia in the other; primed and ready to indulge in a slice of my favorite Figs pizza: a pie sauced with a light tomato base topped with arugula, hot peppers, lemon aioli and fried calamari. My blood pressure drops just typing all of this.

While I’m quite positive Mr. English uses egg yolks in his Caesar (in fact, if this recipe is correct, it confirms it), for now I’ll take a meal that at least reminds me of such an experience: especially if it’s quick to make. True to its word, my dinner came to be in less time than a pizza would take to order. In fact, I accidentally cut myself while chopping romaine and still managed to make a hefty Caesar salad—and eat it—before my thumb stopped bleeding. I’ll bet you haven’t heard that before: a meal that comes together faster than clotting.

Anyways, if you have a can of tuna or some chickpeas in a cupboard or have time to poach an egg (you lucky devil, you) you’ll have dinner in fewer than 10. And the dressing will keep for days, with no worry of salmonella, luring you to use it on veggies instead of leaning on greasy takeout. Because let’s face it: the last thing you need when you are superbly busy is to have to run out and buy a pair of elastic-waisted pants. So it goes: make a lazy Caesar, get to bed when you can, and try to avoid the waist land.

Lazy Man's Caesar Salad Dressing

2-4 tbsp mayo

Juice of 1 lemon and 1/2 peel, zested

5 anchovies

2-4 tbsp pecorino cheese, plus more for dusting

2 tsp dijon mustard

2-4 tbsp olive oil

Salt and pepper, to taste

Combine first 5 ingredients in a blender or food processor. Stream in olive oil and salt and pepper to taste. Toss with greens, a little more pecorino, and you're done.

Makes ~3/4 cup

Notes:

-As you can see, this is a taste as you go recipe. Start with about 2 tbsp of the mayo, cheese and olive and taste and adjust until you think it's right for you.

-While certainly not traditional, I mixed some radicchio in with the romaine because I felt like a needed a little purple in my life that particular day.

-I made a bunch of croutons by tossing chunks of bread with olive oil, salt, pepper and some oregano and my 425 degree oven did the rest of the work. Confession time: while they were crunchy and crisp on day one, the crouton leftovers did get a little stale by day two. That said, once covered in caesar, it didn't matter much. (Nothing did.)

(Fig)uring It All Out

There are some perks to getting older. If you do it right, you also get wiser. Well, wise might be a bit of a stretch. Suffice to say you may just become too tired to worry about things that don’t really matter.

Nevertheless, realizing you don’t need to have all your eccentricities compartmentalized and your cobwebs swept up is invigorating. Sure, my garden currently looks like it is being tended to by the crypt keeper and sure I’ve had to check that my pants weren’t being worn inside-out already once this week, but perfection is overrated.

Anne Lamott, one of my favorite writers, has a great quote about this:

“Perfectionism is based on the obsessive belief that if you run carefully enough, hitting each stepping-stone just right, you won’t have to die. The truth is that you will die anyway and that a lot of people who aren’t even looking at their feet are going to do a whole lot better than you, and have a lot more fun while they’re doing it.”

So when I found myself agonizing over whether Narragansett Creamery salty sea feta or a French goat cheese was better suited to be stuffed into the figs I was making for dinner, I had to snap myself back to reality. Cheese selection—even in the presence of the stately fig—is not of cosmic significance. (As much as I would like to believe otherwise.) So, I took a few deep breaths in front of the cheese counter, rolled my eyes, and got over myself. Next, I quietly filed ‘cheese selection’ into the ever-expanding list of things that probably won’t change my life.

Then I did something completely out of character: I bought BOTH varieties and decided to let the best cheese win. To my surprise, the feta—the unlikely partner—was better. The fig needed more bite than the goat cheese was willing to give. The roasted fig stuffed with feta and drizzled with maple syrup ended up being the perfect bridge from the end of summer to the beginning of fall.

Though not native to Massachusetts, figs reach peak harvest right around now on the west coast. I always have them on hand, fresh when available or dried when out of season. They are quite special either way.

Not surprisingly, fig trees are also a labor of love to grow, requiring five years or more of TLC before you see a darn fig. Once they do produce, the trees can continue on prolifically for decades, centuries even. It is even said the Buddha reached enlightenment while sitting under an old fig tree.

And he has likely been trying to tell us something about this all along. Slow down. Breathe. Eat more figs. (Though I am not quite sure how he’d feel about them being wrapped in bacon.)

So pardon the pun, but I’ve fig-ured out you don’t have to have all the questions of your life answered and your problems wrapped up with little pink bows. It helps to leave some room for possibility: see what develops. It’s much more fun this way. And much less scary. This is true enlightenment, at least for me; that, and eating pretty much anything encased in bacon.

Stuffed Figs Wrapped in Bacon with Maple Syrup

Fresh figs

Hazelnut oil (or any other you prefer)

Smoked sea salt

Black pepper

Feta cheese (or any other you prefer)

Bacon

Maple syrup

Preheat oven to 425. Slice figs in half and toss gently with oil until they are lightly coated. Season with salt and pepper. Stuff the center of your fig with a small amount of feta. Wrap in bacon and secure with a toothpick. Bake for about 15-20 minutes or until bacon is crisped. Drizzle with maple syrup. Sprinkle with additional sea salt, if desired.

Notes

-I didn't list amounts for the ingredients in this recipe, nor provide a yield; who am I to decide what amount of fig or bacon is right for you at this very moment? Enjoy experimenting.

-I buy bacon from Stillman's Farm. They raise animals consciously and humanely, which I like to think the Buddha would appreciate. It's also not very salty, so you may have to adjust your seasoning depending on the bacon you use.