Mangia! Mangia!
Roommates share memories, recipes
ANTOINETTE JACKSON

"Toni taught me how to cuss and drink wine," she told our husbands as we were setting her dining room table.

"I'll take credit for the latter, but not the former" I defended myself, even though I knew that wasn't entirely true.

Patti Brewer and I met at California State University, Los Angeles at the beginning of our junior year. It was my third semester there. Patti was transferring in from Mt. San Antonio College.

Both of us were home economics in business majors and both of us needed a roommate.

One of our professors familiar with our situation introduced us.

In my judgment, the tall, slim, sophisticated baby boomer with dark cat's eye-shaped glasses and bouffant hairstyle seemed nice enough, if not maybe a little square around the edges.

We talked about some ground rules.

Picking up after ourselves, taking turns cleaning the bathroom, separate shelves in the refrigerator and no guys in the apartment after the streetlights went on.

Deciding to give it a try, we rented an affordable second floor apartment in Alhambra and scrounged up furnishings.

On moving day while carrying boxes up the stairs, as she rounded the landing to enter our apartment, Patti dropped something.

"Oh drats!" she blurted out at the sound of breaking glass.

Oh drats. Did she say Oh drats?

This one's going to need some work, I thought to myself.

Patti was a gem.

She was a serious student, pleasant company and a good influence on me.

And she even enjoyed the Italian food I experimented with for our food demonstrations class.

The first time I served a Sicilian specialty and she reached for a glass of milk,

I said, "Patti, we need to have a little talk. Milk and tomatoes will curdle in your stomach.

"You must learn to drink some of my father's authentic Italian table wine imported from Cucamonga." It took some time, but she converted.

By our graduation day two years later, Patti and I knew we would be lifelong friends.

Here we were now forty-five years later, seated around her dining table in El Cajon, Calif., talking about the good things of college.

As her husband Don was about to uncork a bottle of fine red wine, I asked, "Where's the Carlo Rossi Pisano?"

"I know that's what you and Jack drink at home," Patti answered. "But we're in a wine tasting club.

"When I went to the store and found a whole gallon of it on the shelf for $7.99, I didn't want to be seen with it in the checkout stand!"

We all broke out in laughter.

Their choice of wine was excellent.

The dinner was more so; and the Caesar salad outstanding.

"Better give my wife the recipe for the dressing, Jack said, "I could make a habit out of this."

In the next two days while we were houseguests at the Rahisers, Patti's son Douglas and his friends called out from their garage-turned-teenager's-gaming room that they were hungry.

Faster than a 30-minute meal presentation on the Food Network, Patti whipped out spaghetti and meatballs and served it with a Caesar salad and crusty French bread.

The next night around dinnertime Doug and the guys asked for pizza and, you guessed it, Caesar salad.

Patti gave me her recipe before we left, cautioning in order to be smooth, the dressing had to be prepared in a food processor.

When we got home, I dug out my mini-food chopper from the back of the pantry and worked my way through the ingredients.

The finished product didn't look the same. And it didn't taste the same.

"She left something out," Jack said, referring to our old college trick. One of our professors was writing a cookbook.

Patti and I speculated Mrs. Chamberlain was collecting recipes from our student presentations to use in her book.

To outsmart her, we always left out an ingredient out of the recipes we turned in.

"Patti wouldn't do that to me" I responded.

"Then call her and find out," he demanded. Curious to know what I had done wrong, I did call her. I caught her on her cell phone shopping at the supermarket.

"It doesn't taste the same, Patti," I whined.

"Did you use a food processor, Toni?"

"Yes, albeit a small one. Let me read you the ingredients" garlic, anchovies . . ."

My former roommate stopped me at the anchovies.

"You messed with the anchovies?" I asked her.

"I use anchovy paste. But that shouldn't make a difference," she decided.

To date, I have tried Patti's recipe three times and while it is getting better, it still needs some work.

My husband has decided there are only two ways to duplicate her results: she and I make it simultaneously while on the telephone, or we fly her out to East Texas to make it alongside me. I'm game for both.

After all, if I could teach Patti how to cuss and drink wine, the least she can do is to teach me how to make a decent Caesar salad dressing.

Patti's Caesar Salad

The original Caesar salad, created by Italian Chef Caesar Cardini in 1924, calls for a raw egg and croutons. None of us like croutons, so only the dressing recipe follows.

Remember Patti's advice and be sure to use a food processor.

4 garlic cloves, minced 2 teaspoons anchovy paste 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice 1 teaspoon Worcestershire Sauce

3/4 cup mayonnaise

2 tablespoons, plus 1/3 cup freshly grated Parmesan

1 teaspoon Dijon mustard Salt and Pepper to taste

1 large head of romaine lettuce

Mince garlic cloves in a food processor.

Add mayonnaise, anchovy paste, 2 tablespoons Parmesan, lemon juice, Worchestershire and mustard.

Process to blend thoroughly. Season with salt and pepper to taste and set aside.

Cut or tear romaine into bite-sized pieces and place in a large bowl.

Toss with enough dressing to coat thoroughly.

Add remaining 1/3 cup freshly grated cheese, prepared croutons if desired, and toss gently.

Serves 4 - 6.

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Antoinette Jackson is a Bullard-area resident. You may reach her at Antojxn@aol.com.