Andrew Evans
December 19, 2008
Remember your very own small-town prom, and how you impressed your frilly date by scooping a table at the singular nice restaurant around? Then you put your glasses back on and realized you were surrounded by fellow high schoolers -- it was your first lesson in supply versus demand. Welcome to Washington DC next month, when America’s coolness crashes the capital, and the capital tries desperately to bring it in return. At this point, forget about inaugural balls, exclusive gold-specked VIP tickets, and the password-protected after-after parties. Where’s dinner? K Street’s been counting restaurants on fingers and claims it can handle all that glitterati -- just like New Orleans found everyone a seat in the Superdome. Where you dine on the night of the Second Coming defines how many degrees of separation lie between you and the Obamas. Inauguration also settles any longstanding office squabbles about Washington’s top restaurants. It’s quite simple this time: Who’s booked and who ain’t?
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 
