The cart was wheeled out, wooden bowl poised. A little cheese was grated on the eager greens. A few croutons were administered. And – our faces fell in incredulous unison – a creamer-sized pitcher of Caesar dressing was poured over the thing. Poured over the thing.
“Skillfully prepared tableside”? Hardly. Which must have been a typical reaction. The menu now says “Caesar salad, plated tableside.” (To which I say, “What’s the point?”)