I’m in Miami, so all of Texas is up north from me. 
It’s definitely part of “gourmet” foodie food, not your basic Mom n Pop Tex-Mex or even national chain franchise Ameri-Mex which is still mostly Tex-Mex cuisine.
If a foodie-Mexican dinner for two doesn’t cost at least 75 bucks, you’re prolly not gonna find tableside guac there either. But at that level it’s almost de riguer.
“Excuse me, Mr. Mackenzie, but I’ve always wanted to know what a Scotsman wears under his kilt?”
“Ah’m a man of verra few words, lassie. Just gimme yer hond.”
Nothing says classy 1960s eats more than flambéed dessert (especially when it’s at a restaurant with black flocking pattern on red wallpaper, rows of dark-stained spooled columns separating the booths, and massive two-man pepper grinders)
Bananas foster, cherries jubilee, baked Alaska. After the steak & Lowenbrau, be sure to complete the meal with gastro/pyro.
That explains it. We have two high end steak houses and one high end “American” restaurant here, but other than that we don’t have any gourmet or foodie places regardless of the type of cuisine.
No matter what you may have heard, I’ve never known anyone named Ben or Philip. 
I fully expected you to come back with the punchline to the “Scotsman’s Song” joke - “I don’t know whaur ye’ve been, laddie, but I’m verra pleased tae see ye’ve taken first place”. I wasn’t going to use it, as I know a better one - it’s about young Donald Macdonald from Auchterauder, whose mother made him his first kilt, for his birthday. It normally takes eight yards of wool to make a kilt, but Mrs. Macdonald wis a dab hand wi’ a needle, and when she was finished, had a four-inch strip of tartan left over, enough to make young Donald a tie, as well. Bein’ a thrifty Scot, he wis delighted, and promptly went tae show his new kilt tae his girlfriend, Jeanne. However, it bein’ July and a fair scorcher of a day, when he met a group of his mates on their way tae swim in the loch, he decided tae accompany them for a wee dip. He carefully hung his new kilt frae a tree branch, but when he got oot, he completely forgot tae pit it back on.
Arriving at fair Jeanne’s house, he knocked on the door, and when she answered, threw open his coat and said “Look what Ah’ve goat, Jeanne! And there’s anither four inches of it at hame!”
I’m an honorary member of the clan Macalester. (No, really!) I have around 60 inches.
The tartan tie in my closet. 
And wi’ that, lad, I think it’s time we close this hijack, ere we fall foul of the censors moderators. 
Happy (belated) St Andrew’s Day, BTW.
To bring this back to “food and drink with rituals attached” that are not Scottish, I’ll offer the Caesar salad.
There was a time when it was always on the menu as “Caesar salad, for two, prepared tableside.” And it was: the Caesar cart was wheeled next to your table, and the server made a big deal out of cracking the egg with one hand, adding the anchovies, the bacon bits, the parmesan cheese, the romaine, and everything else. Usually, while talking about the salad’s preparation during it—I somewhere have a recipe written down by a server in a high-end steakhouse as to how she did it for us. But it was a ritual; it was most definitely not today’s version, which seems to be where Romaine is put in a bowl in the back of the house, drenched with Kraft or Newman’s Own Caesar Dressing, and covered with croutons and parmesan.
No, the preparation of a Caesar salad tableside was a ritual. As was, I imagine, the preparation of Chateaubriand (for two, prepared tableside), but which I’ve never enjoyed.
Heck, anything prepared tableside, was pretty much ritualistic.
Not the whole preparation, but there are Czech restaurants (which attempt to hearken back to the pre-World War II period) where if you order soup, the waiter will lay out the bowl for you, and then pour the soup (typically a beef broth or garlic soup) from a portion-sized metal beaker right before your eyes.
Yep, I even included a video of the process up in post 8. Very theatrical.
I’ve been to restaurants where the soup has been poured into the bowl at the table. It’s typically part of a tasting menu.
I remembered about tableside wienerschnitzel. There’s a place in Luzern that does this, not sure how common it is. It’s very good.
They also prepare Crepes Suzette at the table.
In my younger days back in The Bronx, when standing on the corner drinking cheap booze wrapped in paper bags, it was a common ritual to pour a bit on the ground from a newly opened bottle and say, “A little for the boys upstate”. (in prison) Classy, huh?
On a personal note, my ritual when having a Friday evening Manhattan is to raise the glass towards my wife’s ashes and declare “Here’s to us - there’s damn few of us left.” Then tap the glass on the counter to “Fuck Trump” and a final “Confusion to the French” before drinking a healthy dram. Then I stand there until I feel the coolness migrate into my armpits. Only then do I take my drink into the office to savor while I look at cat memes.
Hey, you asked! 
I am not a person who ever, ever, ever argues or shows off about wine – I am pretty much a wine dunce – but you just reminded me of the time on a cruise when I ordered a Zinfandel and the waiter brought a white Zinfandel; when I said I’d expected a red wine, he told me that Zinfandel is a white.
One time, I was at a nice restaurant with my husband, and when the waiter brought the wine, he offered me the cork/first taste privilege. Well, I have no sense of smell, or probably taste, and I judge wine by its alcohol content, but the waiter didn’t know that. So I stuck out my pinky finger and played along like I knew what I was doing. Swirled the wine around the glass, breathed in the bouquet, gave it some thought and then a tiny sip…right about then I was amusing myself so much I aspirated that sip down the wrong tube. I started choking and coughing and could not get over it despite how alarmed everyone was. It must have looked like I got a simply dreadful year for Malbec or whatever.
My family weren’t wine drinkers. We had a bottle of Manischewitz Concord Grape for Shabbot. Then my sister went and married a winemaker from Australia. The night of their first wedding (because of visa requirements) we went to dinner at a fancy restaurant and ordered a nice bottle for the table. The new groom sipped it, and told the waiter it was corked and to take it back and bring a new one. We were shocked; we didn’t know you could do that!
The sommelier came out with a new bottle, told us he’d had a few bottles of that wine corked, and apologized for the inconveinence. We were now impressed. After dinner my BIL and sister mentioned that our waiter behaved incorrectly; he sniffed the wine and examined it before taking it away. They said that the waiter should never question the customer’s judgement in public. That can take place out of view but any hesitation is an insult.
And there are several Mexican restaurants near me (Boston) that will prepare guac at the table. They’re not really high end establishments, but the food is good.
But now banned in the EU. Which is a Good Thing.
In Germany earlier thius year, me and my mates learned about Rudesheim Coffee.
Basically a flaming brandy coffee made in a special cup. Prepared at your table by the waiter in full flamboyant style. It uses the local Asbach Brandy (made in Rudesheim).
My guess is that it is mostly drunk by tourists. Not being either a coffee or brandy aficionado, I cannot comment on its qualities.
The mental image of this is hilarious. I’m picturing a Mr Bean type of moment.
I always thought that, when you get the cork, you are supposed to kind of roll it within your fingers to see if it’s brittle. It shouldn’t be.
But I also thought that you could smell it for a vinegar smell; a sign the the bottle was corked.
Then, I thought you were supposed to swirl the wine you get around the glass to get the “legs” on the side of the glass, stick your nose in to take a big sniff, then take a small sip, which you let flow over your tongue while you kind of gurgle a little air. You do that for the tastes.
I’m not claiming it’s correct, but it’s what I’ve been told (normally, I never got an “flavors”, but I did once get vanilla)
…
Also, in terms of table side concoctions, I once went to a restaurant that specialized in making mozzarella.
That was the one I thought of.
Along similar line, “no preaching on the bowl” (it’s a pipe, but a microphone. Pass that shit)