Please When I was younger (much younger), and a bit more tolerant of the unseasoned diner (yes there was a time–although my kids would never believe that),  I worked at a posh, (that word was used at one time), Beverly Hills steak house.  Tableside service.  Salad tossing.  Beef carving.  Desserts flambe.  I could memorize a party of eights’…