My Anchovy Theory

Do you like Anchovies? If the answer is no, you can probably dig my anchovy theory.

Do you live in Salem? If the answer is yes, you are definitely going to get my theory. (If you live in another city with lots of college kids, tourists and crazy locals you'll get it too.)
Really, though - you gotta like Caesar salads to play along.

Imagine for a moment a great Caesar salad, with a perfect Caesar dressing. Crisp romaine lettuce, crunchy herbed croutons, flakes of Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese and a thin veneer of dressing. This dressing is creamy with a hint of lemon and garlic - and something else. The Japanese call it umami; it's that flavor note that makes it all come together in harmony. Do you know what makes Caesar dressing taste so good? So balanced? Anchovies! Caesar dressing without it tastes a whole lot like mayonnaise (or like a white bread suburb). Phooey!

Here is where I tell you that I fucking hate anchovies. They are hairy, salty, greasy, REALLY fishy and downright ichthy. (Fish pun) NOT a fish I would like to spend time with. NOT a fish I want to have over for supper. NOT a fish that I would allow to date my daughter - no way!

However, these little bastards are necessary for the flavor of the dressing. Dagnabbit, I can't deny their importance in the over all scheme of things. Just because I dislike them does not mean that they do not contribute to the Common Good.

Here in Salem we have some colorful locals. I don't like them but they are entirely indispensable for the feel and flavor of Salem. They contribute umami and I love them for it. They are the anchovies of this city. Though they are still not dating my daughter. I cross the street to avoid them and I will not allow them to pet my dogs. However, I still see their value - from a distance.
Drunks on bikes with urine stains on their trousers? Anchovies!
Goth kids walking each other on spiked leather leashes? Anchovies.
A man dressed as a ship's captain muttering to himself and conducting an imaginary orchestra? Anchovy, baby.
A sweaty musician wearing a quilt and playing the piccolo while dancing like a worm being electrocuted? You guessed it! Anchovy!
Anyone in a top-hat, cloak and heavy eyeliner in the middle of a fucking heat wave? Mutha Fuckin' Anchovy!

Welcome to Salem, a quaint little drinking town with an anchovy problem.