Chapter 2: The Caesar Experiment

The friends spilled out of Lila’s house in a lively cluster, voices overlapping, laughter spilling into the cool night. Their bellies were full and their minds still buzzing from the surprising revelation that sardines—of all things—could be delicious. Out on the driveway, the group lingered the way people do when they haven’t had enough of each other yet, though evening had already fallen deep.

Mia, brushing a strand of hair out of her face, broke in with determination. “Okay, listen. I can’t stop thinking about the Caesar salad idea. We have to try it. Right away.” She clapped her hands once, as though sealing a pact. “My place. Tomorrow. No excuses.”

“You’re moving fast,” Ethan teased, his grin lopsided. “What if we need a recovery day? You don’t just bounce from one life-changing fish encounter to the next.”

“Speak for yourself,” Mia shot back, jabbing a finger at him. “My fridge is literally begging to be filled with sardines now. Waiting is not an option. Tomorrow night, I’m hosting.”

Lila clapped delightedly. “Yes! I was hoping someone would pick up the torch.”

“Except this torch smells fishy,” Noah cracked, lighting a laugh from Sophie.

But Mia wasn’t letting up. She folded her arms, her eyes sparkling with challenge. “Fine, if you cowards don’t want to come, I’ll make the salad myself and enjoy it without you. But just don’t tell me later you regret missing history in the making.”

The mock-serious tone struck its target. “History, huh?” Ethan said, narrowing his eyes theatrically. “All right, I’ll come. But only to make sure you don’t put too much dressing on it. Ruining a salad with overdressing is basically a crime.”

“Oh please,” Mia rolled her eyes, grinning. “You just volunteered yourself to be quality control.”

“Count me in,” Sophie added softly, smiling at the friendly squabble.

Noah raised both hands. “I’ll bring dessert. Something non-fishy, just to balance things out.”

And just like that, it was settled. Tomorrow, the adventure would move to Mia’s apartment, with Caesar salad on the table—or at least an experiment in that direction.

---

The next day dragged for Mia. At work, she barely heard half of what her coworkers said to her, her mind drifting somewhere between anchovy paste substitutes and the best way to toast croutons. Again and again, she checked her phone, scrolling through recipes, tutorials, and tips as if she were preparing for the presentation of her life.

By the time she hurried home in the late afternoon, she had already stopped at a grocery store armed with determination. Into her basket she piled romaine lettuce, Parmesan cheese, crusty bread, fresh lemons, olive oil, and a can of sardines that she held with a mixture of pride and nervousness. She hesitated at the crouton aisle, briefly considering pre-made options, then shook her head and grabbed a loaf for herself. If tonight was about proving sardines could shine, she wasn’t about to cut corners.

Back in her kitchen, the fridge door swung open and slammed shut in a rhythm as she organized her ingredients. She lined them neatly on the counter, then stood back and surveyed the spread with a critical eye. “All right, lettuce,” she muttered, “don’t let me down. And you…”—she tapped the sardine tin—“tonight you’re going to shut Ethan up once and for all.”

The process carried her into a steady rhythm—chopping, toasting, whisking. The smell of garlic croutons drifting from the oven made her grin. She even practiced her spiel in her head: how sardines were markers of sustainability, how shelving tuna in favor of sardines lowered mercury exposure, how brilliantly cheap they were compared to other proteins. She could already picture Ethan’s skeptical expression shifting toward reluctant approval again.

By six-thirty, she had everything staged. Bowls stacked, a salad spinner drying in the rack, the croutons crisp and golden in a dish. When her doorbell finally rang, Mia all but sprinted over.

Noah was first. He entered juggling a bakery box. “As promised. Carrot cake. No fish allowed.”

Seconds later, Sophie slipped in, carrying a pitcher draped with a towel. “I made lemonade. Thought it would go well with the salad.”

Ethan and Lila arrived together, arguing cheerfully about the nutritional differences between tinned fish and fresh-cut fillets. Lila was beaming, clearly thrilled to see sardines being put to the test again.

Mia ushered them toward the dining room table, where she had even set out candles, as though preparing for a slightly more formal affair.

“Whoa,” Ethan said, raising his eyebrows at the setup. “All this for salad?”

“Not just a salad,” Mia corrected pointedly. “The salad. Tonight, sardines officially enter Caesar territory.”

---

They gathered in the kitchen, all leaning in closer than strictly necessary as Mia began. She tore crisp leaves of romaine by hand, dropping them into the wide salad bowl. Then she drizzled in olive oil, a squeeze of lemon, and a spoon of mustard.

“Don’t forget the garlic,” Lila urged, peering over the bowl.

“Obviously,” Mia retorted, grating the clove straight in.

The moment came when she opened the tin. A faint scent lifted into the kitchen, sharp but somehow less intimidating than they remembered. Mia held it up just long enough for drama, then carefully nudged the silvery fillets into the bowl.

“See? They’re practically begging to be eaten,” she said lightly, though she herself felt a flutter of nerves.

Noah made a show of fanning the air. “There it is. Now it’s a real Caesar.”

Mia tossed the salad, folding in Parmesan, croutons, and freshly cracked pepper. Then she portioned generous heaps onto plates, her movements careful as if she were presenting pieces of art.

The four friends seated themselves around the table, forks poised. Ethan eyed his plate critically. “All right,” he said, “moment of truth.”

The first bites were experimental, small pieces of sardine hidden beneath greens. Slowly, expressions shifted. Sophie smiled softly again, nodding. “Wow. The sardines add so much richness without being overwhelming.”

Noah’s eyebrows climbed up in surprise. “Better than anchovies, honestly. It’s like… deeper, meatier.”

“I told you!” Mia cried, nearly slapping the table in triumph.

Lila had already dug in enthusiastically. “You’ve elevated Caesar salad to a new level, Mia. This works. It really works.”

Ethan chewed thoughtfully, delaying verdict until his second bite. Then he set his fork down, sighed, and reluctantly shook his head. “I hate this.”

Mia froze. “What?”

“Because now I can’t make fun of you anymore,” he said, smirking. “This is actually fantastic.”

The table erupted in laughter. Relief rushed through Mia, warm and triumphant. The sardines weren’t just sneaking into their diets—they were taking over willingly.

---

They were still eating when the apartment door banged open.

“Yo, Mi—what’s that smell?” The voice came before the figure, and then her brother, Jason, appeared in the doorway, all tall irritation and greasy fast-food energy. He dropped his backpack on the floor with a thud as his eyes swept the table. “You’re not serious. Please tell me you’re not feeding everyone bait fish.”

Mia stiffened immediately, fork halfway to her mouth. Her brother had always been like this—charging into a room, opinion first, tact nowhere in sight.

Ethan choked lightly on his bite, covering a grin with his napkin.

“It’s not bait fish,” Mia snapped. “It’s sardines, and we’re actually enjoying a perfectly nice dinner, thank you.”

Jason burst out laughing, hands on his knees. “Oh man, you’ve actually brainwashed your friends. Look at them sitting there, pretending that canned fish isn’t just a punishment food.”

Sophie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Noah studiously stabbed another crouton.

“Oh, come on,” Lila interjected. “They’re incredibly nutritious—”

But Jason only waved her off. “Don’t tell me facts, I know what sardines are. Cat food for humans.”

Mia’s cheeks flushed. “If you don’t like it, then don’t join. No one asked you.”

He leaned against the counter, grinning mischievously. “I can’t believe this. You guys seriously planned a whole dinner around sardines? This has to be a joke.” His laughter grated across the room.

The irritation in Mia’s chest rose steadily. Around her, her friends were falling quiet, uncomfortable. That only hardened her will.

“You think it’s so funny, huh?” Mia stood, crossed to the counter, grabbed another plate, and slammed it down louder than intended. She scooped a hefty serving of salad, sprinkled it with an extra dusting of Parmesan, and turned to face him squarely.

“Here, then,” she said, shoving the plate toward him. “Mock it all you want, but you’re eating this.”

Jason blinked in surprise, caught off guard by her sudden defiance. “What? No—”

“You barged in here, insulted my cooking, and ruined the mood,” Mia cut him off sharply. “The least you can do is sit down and try a plate.”

And with that, she thrust the fork into his hand.