Augie's Caesar
with Homemade Sourdough Croutons
The dish that made everyone forget about the lobster.
We served this Caesar at one of our Entertainer Supper Clubs in September. Halibut ceviche shooters. Lobster claws with aïoli. A bouillabaisse that took an entire day.
You know what people talked about?
The Caesar.
Augie Haas — my co-author of The Entertainer, trumpet player, the man who understands stagecraft better than anyone I know — also happens to make the best Caesar dressing I have ever tasted. And I don't say that lightly. I'm a trained chef. I've eaten in the best restaurants in the world. I've made my own versions for twenty years.
His is better.
It's anchovy-heavy in the way that makes people say, "What IS that?" and then eat three servings. The anchovy doesn't taste like fish. It tastes like depth. Like the dressing has a secret.
The croutons are sourdough. Craggy. Golden. Shattering when you bite down but chewy inside. The kind of crouton that makes you realize every crouton you've ever eaten before was just stale bread pretending.
We keep the romaine leaves whole and serve it family-style. It's a salad that asks the table to talk to each other.
The Croutons
You make these first, because you'll want to eat half of them before anyone arrives. That's not a flaw. That's the recipe working.
You'll need:
A loaf of good sourdough (a day or two old is best)
Olive oil — enough to coat the bread generously
Garlic salt
A heavy-bottomed skillet
The method:
Cut the sourdough into roughly 1-inch cubes. Don't worry about perfection — uneven shapes give you more crispy edges and craggy texture.
Heat enough olive oil in a heavy skillet over medium heat to coat the bottom — when you add the bread, every cube should kiss the oil.
Add the bread cubes in a single layer. Don't crowd the pan; work in batches if you need to.
Cook over medium heat, turning occasionally, until the cubes are deeply golden and crispy on all sides. This takes longer than you think — 10 to 12 minutes, sometimes more. Let them go. The deep color is the point.
While they're still hot, season generously with garlic salt and toss to coat.
Transfer to a paper-towel-lined plate to cool.
Try not to eat them all. (You will eat some. That's allowed.)
Augie's Anchovy-Heavy Caesar Dressing
The key move is what he does with the anchovies. He chops them — a lot — and then drags the broad side of his knife across the cutting board to smash them into a paste. Not minced. Not chopped. Smashed. That's where the depth comes from. That's the secret.
You'll need:
6 anchovy fillets packed in oil, drained
1 small garlic clove
¼ teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
2 large egg yolks
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice, plus more to taste
¾ teaspoon Dijon mustard
2 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
½ cup vegetable oil
3 tablespoons finely grated Parmesan, plus more for serving
Freshly ground black pepper
The method:
Chop the anchovies — really chop them — and then use the broad side of your knife to drag and smash them into a smooth paste against the cutting board. This is the move. Don't skip it.
Mince and smash the garlic with ¼ teaspoon kosher salt the same way until it forms a paste.
Whisk the anchovy paste, garlic paste, egg yolks, lemon juice, and Dijon in a medium bowl until smooth.
While whisking constantly, add the olive oil and then the vegetable oil — drop by drop at first, then in a slow steady stream — until the dressing is thick and creamy.
Whisk in the Parmesan. Season with more salt, more lemon, and lots of black pepper to taste.
You should be able to drag a spoon through the dressing and have it leave a trail. If it's too thick, thin with a teaspoon of water at a time. If it's too thin, more Parm.
Bringing It Together
We serve this family-style at Flaweless. Whole romaine leaves — washed, dried, kept large. The leaves should look like they're inviting you in, not pre-cut into bite-sized politeness.
To assemble:
Tear or leave whole the romaine leaves and pile them in a wide, shallow bowl.
Drizzle the dressing generously over the leaves — don't be precious about it.
Toss gently with your hands. Yes, your hands. A wooden spoon won't do this right.
Top with the still-warm sourdough croutons.
Finish with a heavy snowfall of freshly grated Parmesan and a few cracks of black pepper.
Serve immediately, in the middle of the table, with serving tongs and a few extra napkins. Watch what happens.
Why This Salad Works
A great Caesar is not a side. It's an anchor. When everything else on the menu is bold or unfamiliar, this is the dish that grounds the table — the one your guests recognize, the one that lets them be brave about everything else.
Familiarity is safety. And safety is what lets people surrender to the rest of the night.
That's the strategy. Augie just happens to make it taste like art.
