Well folks, my day could not have gone any better. Plan or no plan, every situation unfolded as though it were my destiny to achieve the height of competitive free fooding. Although I have tons to say about the day, let’s get right into just how my evening unfolded.

I departed CAP at 5:20 ready to take advantage of a very special happy hour prior to my extravagant dinner. I made my way to the Kastles after party at the Park (where a weekend table is $500 and admission is “invitation only) where every Tuesday they have an open bar (of sorts) and hors'd'oeuvres from 5-7. I showed up at the Park only to be greeted by a man in all black with a wire coming out of his ear. “I.D.?” he said looking me up and down. I handed him my I.D. and he looked approvingly. Never have I been happier to be wearing a black suit (Some Blog POST history. In one of my first posts I discussed the importance of the suit) as he clearly evaluated my look before granting me entry. “Welcome to the party he said,” as he opened the door for me. I could have sworn I was in a bad serious adaptation of A Night at the Roxbury. I walked into the super swanky club and mad my way past the couches to the bar. I was about to order when I noticed that there was a regular menu and a complimentary beverages menu. I sat down and quickly ordered a Matador McEnroe, which is simply a vodka red bull. As my drink came, a man in a seersucker suit and straw bowler hat sat down next to me. After a few awkward minutes we started some small talk, discussing sports as the big Redskins story was on the bar’s T.V. “Are you a Redskins fan?” I asked. “Well, kind of,” he said. “Kind of? Why not?” I returned. He explained that he isn’t always a Redskins fan because he has a lot of conflicting interests. “You know, Jason and Clinton and I are all friends. But I’m also friends with some Giants and Ravens guys too.” Huh? I was thinking. Jason who? And then, it hit me. This man was talking about Redskins quarterback Jason Campbell and running back Clinton Portis. Of course, I thought. You know Clinton and Jason and I are on a first name basis as well. “So,” I asked. “Are you in the sports business?” “No,” he said. “I do events but I contract for all the teams.” Just then, as though it were out of a movie, a series of club promoters walked in, sat down and started talking business. Maybe he wasn’t, but if you had been there, this guy seemed like he was kind of a big deal (which reminds me, did I mention that Nick Cannon (I know lame) was one of the panelists at my lunchtime endeavor??) I stuck around long enough to enjoy the free appetizers: mini cheeseburgers, spinach and artichoke dip, little dishes of macaroni and cheese, and calamari. However, my time was almost up. I had a 6 o’clock engagement at DuPont Circle to make and it was just after 5:45. I got up quickly and made my way to the door. The Men In Black looking doorman opened the portal and I was back in the real world. Already full, I chased the 42 bus three blocks not wanting to be late for meal number 2.

 Meal number 2 is like my baby. It was what I referred to today as my “super top secret dinner plan.” Monday, when I was thinking and plotting how to blow the competition away in the finals, I had a brilliant idea. My father owns and cooks at two D.C. restaurants (enter shameless plug here [2amys] and here [Obelisk]). As a result, he is very friendly with many area restaurateurs and chefs. While this in no way guaranteed free food (after all, everybody eats at everybody else’s restaurants all the time and they ALWAYS pay) or even necessarily would lead me to victory, I saw a window of opportunity and so I ran towards it. Being from D.C., I knew that everything about this town is who you know, how you present yourself, and what kind of story you can make up to get what you want. After all, we had all been doing this all week. Whether it was singing at Potbelly’s, using Yale status and a whole lot of attitude to get a great breakfast, or using your father’s name to get somebody’s attention and walk away with a free three course meal complete with wine and a bottle of Italian sparkling water, we’ve all done it. But let’s back up. So, Monday afternoon I call my dad and ask him if he had some advice about some of his restaurant buddies that I could call and try to wring some free food out of. Without hesitation, he replied, “call Vinny. He loves to talk and he eats at the restaurant every night sometime from 6-8.” Jackpot, I thought. Now all I needed was some type of excuse to come by the restaurant, some way to buy some time with him and try to get something to eat in the process. Looking for an answer, I thought back to my time at Campus Progress. Remembering the blog POST that I wrote with Arielle about Mr. Yogato, I figured that I could simply tell Vince that I want to write a story about his restaurant Etrusco. After all, he has been in business for 28 years, was the first “Authentic” Italian restaurant in D.C., and he has experienced unparalleled ups and downs in this city. Knowing that I would need a better pitch than just, “I want to write about your restaurant, can I come by?” I told Vince that I am writing a piece about the changing face of the D.C. restaurant scene and how one person has struggled to mold to and outlast the crazy trends that consume the restaurant business. Although extremely skeptical of how he could be helpful, he told me to come by today at 6pm so that we could talk. I knew that this wasn’t a promise of free food but boy did it give me an opening.

I got off of the 42 bus at 6:02 and walked into Etrusco at Q street at DuPont Circle. Nobody was there when I arrived, but soon somebody came into the main hallway asking if they could help me. “I’m here to see Vince,” I said shyly. “Oh, ok, we’ll find him.” Vince came down the stairs cursing and shouting on the phone (completely typical of a restaurant owner). He walked by me with no acknowledgment. He continued to the dining room where he began tearing out his air conditioning vents one-by-one screaming as he realized that each of his ducts was filling up with gallons of water. After several more phone calls, he finally came over to talk. Seeing that the daily restaurant disaster was in full effect, I worried that he would rebuff my “research request” or tell me he only had a minute. Instead, he invited me into the dining room and had me climbing up onto the wall to try to see how deep the water was. Immediately, I knew that this was a good thing. He was using me to help him solve the problem. He knew that I had grown up in restaurants and had heard every story known to man. I fit in. I was part of this world and that was a good sign for my stomach. To him, this was just a regular old Tuesday full of one problem after the next, and, if I could help him figure out what the heck was wrong, then I was good for something. 8 phone calls later, a ton more expletives, much pacing, and a little laughter, he finally told me to sit down in the beautiful main dining room where we had been working but where no guests would be eating as a result of the water problem. Before he even asked me what I wanted to question him about, he said the magic words, “What can I get you to drink?” Without missing a beat I replied, “I’d love a glass of red (wine).” He came right back with a 2006 Barbaresco and handed me a menu. “You hungry?” he asked. “Um, yea always, I’m always hungry” was the best thing that I could get out without showing my full excitement. “Well, what do you want?” Without missing a beat, he promptly answered the question himself. “Let’s see. I want to try the Pesto today so let’s get a couple of bowls of that, oh, and the pork looked good. You eat pork right? Good. And, why don’t you get the crostini” He murmured quickly. Although the thought of Pesto when I could have penne with Lamb Ragu or Spaghettini alla Stallina didn’t totally excite me, I knew that beggars cannot be choosers and I was already hitting the begging jackpot and was not going to mess this up.

After ordering, Vince again left the table to continue worrying about his water situation. Finally, 10 minutes later, he came back to the table as I was sitting there devouring the bread basked that had showed up and just in time for his polpette and my Crostini. As we put down our wine glasses and picked up our forks, he said, “I hope you don’t feel like I pressured you to eat. I was hungry but if you don’t have time for a bite to eat, then I can just answer your questions and we can forget the whole meal.” “NO, NO, NO” I nearly jumped out of my chair. “This is great. You really didn’t have to feed me but thank you so much it is apropos after all that we talk about food over food. We dove right in and I began asking questions about his restaurant experience. He knew to the day the most significant events that had shaped restaurant life and he gave me amazingly hard hitting and cutting answers about the trends in D.C., the competition, and the changes that he has seen in restaurant and political Washington. As this post’s purpose is to simply relay to you the splendor of the most fantastic free, four course, wine filled meal ever achieved in this competition (ooh bold statement), I will save the bloody details of the Washington D.C. restaurant world according to Vince. But, as 8:30 rolled around and the talk changed from restaurant politics to presidential politics, I knew that, although I had come to Vince’s like I had come to many places today—to deceive, achieve my goal of getting the most delicious and outrageous free food, and win this competition, something had changed. I no longer basked in my ability to deceive. Vince met my deception with authenticity and I knew then that I had to write my “Vince story.” That being said, I won’t bore you anymore with it here; nevertheless, check back later this week for one man’s take on Washington Restaurant politics.

But I digress again. The following are pictures (sorry, my camera phone doesn’t do these dishes justice) of the restaurant and the meal I enjoyed (without dessert photos). It’s ok to be jealous of rich chive infused ricotta cheese crostini, delicious perfectly al dente pesto, and succulent grilled pork chop with vincotto (a wine reduction sauce), local “filet” beans and Nicola potatoes.

   (Notice myinterview notebook out and ready)  

(oops, I guess this was mostly eaten by then). 

  Finally, in response to all of these accusations about my talking trash and starting things, I want everybody to know that there was nobody in the office who acted as brutally as the Chenwei supporters. They created the ultra-competitive atmosphere with their signs, slandering (I greatly appreciate the “anybody but Nick or the Highway” sign) and there deliberate attacks on me and Aditi (although by the end they really just attacked me). Chenwei, like any good savior, you are responsible for your followers (think Obama and the head wrap incident). While all of the negativity did drive me harder, I want everybody to know that this has really been great fun for me and I hope everybody reading along and playing enjoyed it too.

While I am sure that many people will be outraged about my using connections to get an in and create a free food opportunity, all I have to say is that this is the nation’s capital. It’s what we all do everyday at CAP and elsewhere so don’t hate on me.

Ok, I’m going to sleep. It has been an exhausting day of athletic accomplishment and I can’t wait until this becomes an official Olympic sport in 2016.