The Washington Post wages a bit of class warfare, documenting the slide into irrelevance and/or bankruptcy of the American country club in a manner that’s ostensibly sympathetic but ultimately snarky. The crux of the story is an anecdote about well-heeled regulars at a club finding that the reinvented, now-open-to-the-public dining room can’t even get their salad order right:

“And Mr. Cluss has always preferred a simple salad before his dinner, with olives sliced from the bar, finely shredded lettuce and no croutons. The new waitress returns with a salad loaded with croutons, and Charles frowns as Mimi picks them off his plate. ‘No croutons,’ he mutters as the waitress walks away. ‘No croutons. No croutons.’”

The story weaves some interesting insight into the battle for the soul of country clubs between the layers of snark and evocative prose, and manages to be multidimensional in its telling of the saga of Pennsylvania’s Uniontown Country Club.

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