When the joint next door sternly turned us away, claiming that a catering order would prohibit the kitchen staff from cooking for its customers for at least thirty minutes (seriously?), we opted, in a pinch, for Italian food instead. And my kid, who's obsessed with Caesar salads, ordered one here, not remotely deterred by our server's warning that the dressing was "really, really anchovy-y." She was right, and although there were no actual anchovies on the salad, which my kid politely pointed out, the dressing was much better than the red sauce that slicks the pastas.
Can you guess where I'm eating?
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