This week, Jonathan Gold considers the Dal Rae in Pico Rivera, where there are enormous relish trays and people in ageless sweaters and sparkly pantsuits and where they still make the Caesar salad tableside, at least when it's not insanely busy.
The Dal Rae at Christmas -- freaking hell, the Dal Rae at Christmas, a pulsing, meat-scented wonderland of dark wood and smoked mirrors and shrimp cocktails as big as spaniel pups, Old-Fashioneds pulsing with sugar, tiny lightbulbs of such profusion and such blinking complexity that it can feel as if you are trapped on the inside of a vintage Rock-Ola.
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