Rise of the romaine empire

Not me. If food is good, it's good and fashion be damned. And romaine is good.

Don't get me wrong. I like my fancy mesclun-style lettuces as much as anyone - I've got a full bed of them in my garden and I trot out to cut my salad greens in the evening just as happily as any other Alice Waters acolyte. Those fancier lettuces have a vivid mix of flavors that I love. (I've got one Asian mustard that is hot as horseradish.)

But romaine has something they lack - crunch. And sometimes crunch counts. Those mixed lettuces are terrific with good olive oil, a squirt of lemon juice and a sprinkling of sea salt. But if you're looking at a salad with more heft, a real American salad, you need a lettuce with some structural integrity.

Want a wedge of something to go under a creamy blue cheese dressing (lots of black pepper, please)? How about a classic green goddess, redolent of anchovies, chives and tarragon? And, of course, you shouldn't even think of a Caesar without picking up a head of romaine.

Indeed, it was this last salad that sparked the rebirth of romaine lettuce and one of the more remarkable turnarounds in modern agricultural history.

Romaine lettuce has been around for centuries. In fact, Egyptian tomb art depicts a lettuce that looks quite like it. In England, it's sometimes known as cos lettuce, allegedly because it was brought from the Aegean island of that name. The name romaine comes because it was supposedly introduced to France when the pope moved from Rome to Avignon in the 14th century.

Hail, Caesar

But for much of the 20th century, romaine wasn't known at all to many Americans. That's because of the overwhelming success of iceberg lettuce, which can remain reliably crunchy (though incredibly bland) despite days if not weeks of shipping. As late as the mid-1970s, iceberg lettuce accounted for more than 95 percent of all of the lettuce grown in this country.

Then along came the reborn Caesar salad. Invented in a Tijuana, Mexico, restaurant in the 1920s (which one is a subject of a bitter interfamilial dispute), for decades the Caesar kind of limped along in all of its garlicky glory as a California specialty.

Then, all of a sudden, in the late 1970s it was "discovered" by the fast food industry, often topped with very untraditional grilled chicken, and there followed a couple of decades of extremely heady popularity.

From almost nothing, by the mid '90s, more than 16,000 acres of romaine was being grown. By 2000 that had increased to more than 60,000 acres and today it stands at more than 80,000.

That's still about half of iceberg's acreage, but especially considering the high percentage of iceberg that winds up on top of hamburgers, it's pretty impressive.

And I have to say I do my best to use my share.

I like romaine in midweek dinners, which in my house often consist of dishes such as scraps of Sunday roast chicken, bound with a bit of mayonnaise and brightened with herbs, reconfigured as a salad.

And speaking of which, next time you roast a chicken (or most anything else for that matter), try this: Drain off a couple tablespoons of the fat, then deglaze the pan with a bit of red wine vinegar and stir that into the fat; toss with romaine.

(A couple of side notes: While the whole head is good enough for family dinners, if you want a little more elegance, trim the floppy outer leaves - save them for another meal, the compost or a bunny, if you have one - and serve just the pale crisp hearts. Furthermore, when they're trimmed this way, the lettuce spears are easy to eat with your fingers.)

Dressed to thrill

Almost anything that takes an American-style salad dressing should be built from romaine. (Years ago we had an Italian exchange student stay with us; the first time she was asked at a restaurant what kind of salad dressing she wanted, she was flabbergasted. "Oil, vinegar? How many kinds can there be?")

Well, there's blue cheese, of course. Mash crumbled cheese into mayonnaise along with some minced shallots, then stir in just enough cream to make it pourable. I think the real key to a great blue cheese dressing is lots of black pepper, but that's just me.

My favorite way to use blue cheese dressing is my spin on a steakhouse staple: with crumbled bacon and thinly sliced radishes over romaine.

Or what about homemade green goddess dressing? If you've only had store-bought, you're in for a surprise. A well-made green goddess is one of the great flavored mayonnaises - tangy with anchovy and brightened by lots of fresh herbs: parsley, chives and, especially, tarragon.

And romaine is also good treated like radicchio: grilled and served with a slightly chunky dressing of anchovies and garlic pureed with olive oil. Scatter toasted walnuts and graceful ribbons of shaved Parmigiano-Reggiano over the top and, finally, you've got a romaine salad even my little Italian friend would recognize.

ROMAINE SALAD WITH SHRIMP AND GREEN GODDESS DRESSING

Total time: 20 minutes

Servings: 6

Green goddess dressing:

• 4 anchovy fillets, chopped
• 2 green onions, green parts only, finely chopped
• 1 1/2 tablespoons chopped parsley
• 2 tablespoons chopped tarragon
• 2 tablespoons tarragon vinegar
• 2 tablespoons minced chives
• 1 1/2 cups mayonnaise

Salad:

• 3 (6-ounce) hearts of romaine
• 1/2 pound cooked medium shrimp, peeled and deveined
• 3 tablespoons watercress leaves

To make the dressing: In a food processor or blender, puree the anchovies, green onions, parsley, tarragon, vinegar and chives, or grind with a mortar and pestle to make a fairly smooth paste. Stir the mixture into the mayonnaise. Refrigerate tightly covered. This will make just over 1 1/2 cups dressing, more than enough for the salad.

To assemble the salad: Pull away any tough or faded outer leaves from the romaine, then separate the heads into individual leaves and combine in a mixing bowl.

Place the shrimp in another small mixing bowl with the watercress leaves and add just enough green goddess dressing to lightly coat, about 2 tablespoons.

Spoon about 1/2 cup of the remaining green goddess dressing over the romaine and toss, adding more dressing 1 tablespoon at a time as needed to lightly coat the leaves.

Arrange the romaine on 6 chilled salad plates, then arrange the shrimp and watercress on top and serve immediately.

ROMAINE SALAD WITH BLUE CHEESE, BACON AND RADISHES

Total time: 30 minutes

Servings: 6

Blue cheese dressing:

• 1 tablespoon minced shallots
• 2 teaspoons red wine vinegar
• 1/2 cup mayonnaise
• 3/4 cup crumbled blue cheese
• 2 to 3 tablespoons heavy cream
• Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Salad:

• 6 strips thick sliced bacon
• 3 (6-ounce) hearts of romaine
• 3 to 4 large radishes, sliced as thinly as possible

To make the dressing: In a small mixing bowl, macerate the shallots in the red wine vinegar until they soften slightly, about 5 minutes. Add the mayonnaise and blue cheese and stir roughly with a fork, mashing any large clumps of cheese with the tines of the fork.

Stir in just enough heavy cream to make a slightly creamy consistency; the dressing will be very thick. Add salt to taste; because blue cheese can be quite salty, it might not need any. Stir in a generous grinding of black pepper and refrigerate tightly covered. Let warm slightly and stir briskly before serving.

To assemble the salad: In a large skillet, cook the bacon over medium-low heat until it is browned on 1 side, about 5 minutes. Turn and brown on the other side, 4 to 5 minutes. If there are any pale spots left on the first side, turn it again and cook briefly so that the bacon is well-browned and quite crisp. Drain on paper towels.

Pull away any tough or faded outer leaves from the romaine, then separate the heads into individual leaves and combine in a large mixing bowl.

Spoon about 1/2 cup of the blue cheese dressing over the romaine and toss, adding more dressing 1 tablespoon at a time as needed to lightly coat the leaves.

Arrange the romaine on 6 chilled salad plates, then crumble the bacon over top and scatter the sliced radishes over everything. Serve immediately.

GRILLED ROMAINE WITH WALNUTS, PARMESAN AND ANCHOVY DRESSING

Total time: 30 minutes

Servings: 6

• 4 anchovy fillets
• 2 teaspoons minced garlic
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 cup olive oil
• 3 teaspoons lemon juice
• 3 (6-ounce) hearts of romaine
• 2/3 cup chopped, toasted walnuts
• 1 ounce Parmigiano-Reggiano

In a mortar and pestle or a blender, puree the anchovy fillets, garlic and salt. Slowly add the olive oil in a stream, stirring or pureeing constantly to make a creamy sauce. Stir in the lemon juice, taste and add more lemon juice or salt if necessary. Set aside.

Prepare a wood fire or heat a grill pan over medium-high heat until hot. Split the hearts of romaine in half lengthwise, leaving them attached at the base. Brush both sides of each half with the anchovy sauce and then grill over a wood fire or in a grill pan until the leaves sizzle and begin to look a little frazzled, about 2 minutes on each side. They probably won't brown much.

Remove the cooked romaine to individual serving plates, cut-side up. Sprinkle with chopped walnuts and spoon some more dressing over top. Use a vegetable peeler to shave Parmigiano-Reggiano in thin sheets over top. Serve immediately.