Mesón is a charming window on the past. The décor, menu, and overall vibe are a microcosm of what the 60’s chic set considered fine dining. It is worth the trip just to experience a true Caesar salad made tableside. The fairly moderate pricing would make this a great place for young people to channel their Mad Men personae by dressing apropos of the era (bouffant hair, heels, and gloves) and making a night of it, though the Lucky Strikes would have to be confined to the parking lot.

Upon reflection, the younguns need to be holding a steady job; surf-and-turfy mains can approach $45, a figure rarely attained hereabouts. But the peachy-airy interior is anachronistically charming, the over-upholstered entry foyer gracious, and the gleaming grand piano only slightly discomfiting. But it may be best to share a Caesar and split. An appetizer order of tricolor “tortellini carbonara” arrived far more cheesy than eggy; though the bacon lent a welcome smoky touch and the pasta was tender, this was a dish that needed less luxe and more muscle—freshly cracked black pepper for starters.

The same and more can be said of the baked “Chicken Marco Polo,” a blast from our Chicken Kiev past. Apparently, there are still diners who feel that stuffing a chicken breast—with anything—equates to fine dining. Sorry, but cheese and broccoli don’t do it, and neither does a broken, cheesy sauce. The wine list is of the hit-parade sort, but at least reasonably priced.