Caesar wraps are always meh. Why is D.C. obsessed with this one?

Were they there to nab concert tickets? An exclusive new sneaker? Free ice cream? Some magic pill that would allow them to slumber until the election is over?

Um, no. (And it will never be over.)

The line-standers had come for a sandwich. One sold by a fairly nondescript lunch spot, that has been on its menu forever.

But here is the thrilling part: It’s a chicken Caesar salad wrap!

What? That didn’t do it for you?

Fine. Then you should know that this particular chicken Caesar salad wrap has been anointed D.C.’s best chicken Caesar salad wrap. By who? Oh, some folks on TikTok, who told other folks on TikTok, who sent the good people behind the counter at this joint — prophetically named the Best Sandwich Place — into a lettuce chopping frenzy.

And this, dear reader, is what passes for weekday joy in downtown D.C. during the thick summer of 2024, as workers make their required badge swipes into quasi-empty offices and count the days until it’s their turn to be on vacation: hype. And the hope that something could be good. Maybe even great. Even if it’s just a chicken Caesar salad wrap.

The Washington Post cares deeply about its subscribers, so we took it upon ourselves — in the midst of a slightly busy news cycle — to untangle that hype and determine whether the wrap is worthy.

Also, we were hungry. And the sandwich shop is across the street. And journalists also need joy. And, well, listen to what these TikTokers are saying….

“I see why it’s called the Best Sandwich Place in DC because this chicken Caesar salad wrap was truly elite …”

“This is maybe the perfect chicken Caesar wrap …”

“This really gets a 10/10. . . ”

“Buffalo chicken Caesar wrap summer,” declared one woman, who poured Buffalo sauce on her wrap while sitting in her car. (More on the sauce in a moment.)

It’s unclear which D.C. food-Tok influencer made the call that this was the best of all chicken Ceasar wraps — who knew there was even a contest? — but once it happened, their comrades answered the call in droves.

Jason Kim, owner of the shop, which is tucked humbly on a downtown corner across from Franklin Park, used to sell 100 chicken Ceasar wraps per day; in the past two weeks, since the TikTokers started arriving, he’s sold four times as many.

For days he dodged interview requests from The Post. When we finally pinned Kim down he apologized. It’s just that he’s scared of more publicity. How much romaine can one shop chop?

Plus, he doesn’t get it.

“A chicken Caesar wrap is, like, everybody knows how to make it,” he says, leaning back in a wooden chair to watch his staff finish their closing duties. “Good croutons, good chicken. Romaine lettuce and parmesan cheese. I really don’t know what’s driving anyone.”

Somewhere along the way people starting adding buffalo sauce to the wraps, and now that’s become a whole thing. Kim is having to come in on his days off to make extra vats of the stuff. He’s sold out of his homemade croutons, ordered extra boxes of wraps and run dry of lettuce.

Kim is meticulous about his ingredients. He hand-makes dozens of dressings and sauces daily and inspects his vegetables down to the width of a lettuce leaf. But he can’t wrap his mind around chicken Caesar salad wrap mania. His personal nominee for Internet superstardom: the quinoa and kale salad.

There is something inherently and profoundly boring about a chicken Caesar salad wrap. It is meant to be consumed at the airport. Between meetings. On the move. It’s not meant to be trendy, buzzy, or hyped.

Perhaps it’s related to the 100th anniversary of the Caesar salad, which originated in Tijuana, Mexico, and is having it’s own moment as a wave of people deemed it — when paired with fries and a martini — to be the perfect meal.

So, is TBSP’s wrap worthy of its rep? To find out, we had 15 Washington Post staffers try the chicken Caesar salad wrap with a side of buffalo sauce and provide comments and a 1-10 ranking.

Now, full disclosure: We’ve collectively sunk thousands of dollars into this place. It’s visible from our office windows and is something of a Washington Post haunt. Like the chicken Caesar wrap itself, it’s trustworthy — a spot you can get in and out of quickly, to head back to your desk and hit a deadline. So naturally, most of our testers already had a connection with TBSP — unlike the TikTokers who mispronounced its acronym as “tablespoon.”

Many Post staffers were also blissfully unaware of the wrap’s virality. “I am baffled that there’s hype!” one wrote.

For most of our testers the chicken Caesar salad wrap is not their go-to TBSP lunch order, and fewer still would think to douse it in Kim’s tangy buffalo sauce. Their reviews were mixed:

“There’s something about this wrap that’s a bit too watery. Which makes the tortilla a little soggy. And that breaks it for me. I say this as someone who’s had these multiple times,” wrote one reporter.

“What makes this good is the very even distribution of ingredients and the generous amount of chicken and parmesan,” wrote another.

“Would I wait in line for this?” one wondered. “That’s the real question here, and I’m not sure any chicken Caesar anything could get me to wait more than 5 minutes.”

“I love a buffalo chicken wrap — but I like a Caesar wrap on its own,” wrote a staffer. “If I wanted a buffalo wrap I would order one.”

“The sandwich of last resort,” one naysayer said of all ceasar wraps.

The average rating? A 7.6 out 10. Good. Serviceable. Perfectly fine.

And here is a parallel truth: We had fun.

We had fun watching the videos, scrutinizing the chomping, on-camera hype-purveyors. We had fun wondering whether they were right.

We had fun walking away from our desks, standing around together, trying something that might be exceptional. Being part of a moment and a collective experience.

All of which made the wrap — the good, serviceable, perfectly fine wrap — pretty great.