We all know that at one point, the entire culinary scene in South Beach needed a boot camp guest appearance on Gordan Ramsay's Kitchen Nightmares. I still remember, back in 2004, ordering some fish dish that didn't taste like fish (hey, aren't we on the Atlantic here?), which I sent back only to have them bring me another fish that tasted even more unidentifiable. The food sucked almost everywhere I went, and your best bet was true, homestyle Cuban food -- if you could find it. Thankfully, restaurants in South Beach have ramped it up considerably in the past five years alone, to the point where I can actually recommend restaurants to friends passing through. Another good sign is the South Beach Wine & Food Festival, which is celebrating it's 10th anniversary this month with a roster of events and flashy food-types that prove it's come a long way.

It’s debatable how the ambition-averse French (for the record, that’s a compliment) view Ducasse, Inc. -- and the global “branding” of what was once a sacred and strictly indigenous vocation. But as Americans, we’ll gladly latch on to the symbolism of a revered French chef settling in two blocks from a xenophobic White House, “audaciously hoping” it is a significant harbinger of change to soon come. And despite Monsieur Ducasse’s spotty stateside success, praise for his Adour NYC has been as lavish as its gilded interior. His new DC outpost, opening this September and sporting elegantly modern interiors by the Rockwell Group, completes the transition of the St. Regis from gloriously stuffy old-money citadel to the city’s most formidable modern luxury hotel.

Who says the French surrender too easily? Le big shot chef Alain Ducasse, for one, is a Gaul with gall. After his eponymous and debut New York restaurant finally raised the white flag in 2007, he quickly staged another invasion, with his universally feted and palpably less vainglorious new Adour at the St. Regis. On April 21, he further ratchets down the snoot factor with Benoit, an outpost of his decidedly more casual bistros in Paris and Tokyo. In the space that once held La Cote Basque (the 1960s society scene for lunching ladies, which legendarily hastened the downfall of one Mr. Capote), the new restaurant opts to recreate the resplendent aesthetic glories of the Belle Epoque, with engraved glass, antique posters and red velvet banquettes—as well as offering a menu of lusty French classics. Unfortunate phonetic double entendre aside, this one looks like une certaine victoire pour M. Ducasse.