The chicken Caesar wrap is a containment problem, and the wrap is the answer to it. A Caesar is a deliberately wet salad: chicken, crisp lettuce, and Parmesan slick with a thick, salty, anchovy-and-garlic dressing that pools at the bottom of a bowl. Put that between two rigid slices and the dressing soaks straight through and the bottom gives way. Roll it in a soft flatbread or tortilla instead and the bread becomes a sealed wall around the wet filling, holding the dressing in and letting the whole thing be eaten one-handed without it running down a wrist. The flexible bread folding completely around the load, not the salad inside it, is the defining engineering.
The craft is binding a wet filling tightly enough that the seam survives. A rolled wrap is a closed cylinder, so the dressing is measured carefully and tossed through the components rather than poured on, because a wrap that goes wet in the middle splits along its length on the second bite. The chicken is cooked and cooled so it does not steam the bread soft from the inside, and the lettuce is dried hard after washing so it adds crunch and not water to a filling that already carries a wet dressing. The components are spread in an even strip and not overfilled, so the bread can be folded at both ends and rolled tight into a structure that holds its shape. The tortilla is usually warmed briefly so it bends around the load and seals rather than cracking along the fold.
The variations stay inside the rolled flexible-bread frame and swap what is contained. The plain Caesar drops the chicken; a bacon-laden version pushes toward a club in a wrap; the same dressing and leaves stacked between rigid bread becomes a different sandwich with a different failure mode. Each deserves its own article rather than being crowded in here.