Eat and Run : How Does a Future President Pick a Restaurant? <i> Very</i> Carefully

The scene is a smoky room on the 15th floor of a Los Angeles hotel. Half-eaten club sandwiches litter the floor. Ice melts in a bucket. Ash trays overflow. Meanwhile, powerful, hungry men in shirt sleeves sift through piles of restaurant reviews and paw through critical guides.

“We’ve got to send him to the right restaurant,” says one, “or we could have a disaster on our hands.”

His companion nods. “Yeah,” he says, “in this town you are where you eat. We don’t want him seen coming out of the wrong joint just before the election. It could be political suicide.” He winces. “The question is: Which one’s the right restaurant?”

Halfway across town, in another hotel room, a similar scene is being played out. The other side is equally worried. They too need to select the perfect restaurant for their candidate.

What the candidate prefers is, of course, perfectly irrelevant; we are dealing here with the image of eating. As one of the spin doctors now comments, “Everybody knows that Reagan likes Chasen’s, but just think what the other side would do if they found out our guy was eating a bowl of $20 chili.”

As we all know by now, these campaigns try to leave nothing to chance. If it came down to the politics of dining, both sides would send advance parties scurrying out to find the perfect restaurant. These operatives would probably report back to headquarters with the following memos.

Bounty for Bush

Sawdust on the floor, peanuts in a barrel, the whole hokey bit. We’ve found the perfect place for our candidate to pull up a chair. It’s down-home all-American grub--and we won’t have to raise taxes to make it affordable. Best of all, R.J.’s is a bit of Texas, leg-slapping goodness stuck right in the heart of money country, Beverly Hills.

When the candidate walks in he can work the bar directly to his left. Keep his schedule loose because they’ll ask him to wait (they don’t seem to be too good about honoring reservations). That’s fine; George can be folksy and friendly and down to earth. He could drink a beer--maybe two. It wouldn’t be a bad idea for him to eat a few free peanuts and say something about football. Then he can point up at the television over the bar and make a few cracks about the way the media treat Dan Quayle.

When they finally call his name he can amble to the table, shaking hands and kissing babies as he goes. (Plenty of babies here.) And then he can make a big show of contemplating the menu.

The candidate should order the beef ribs. (They’re the best thing on the menu, but that’s not the point. They’re so big they look like they came from an elephant and they provide a great photo op. More on that later.)

Now the candidate should make his way to the mile-long salad bar they call the “green grocery.” While choosing among the various kinds of lettuce, the candidate should take the opportunity to mention the farmers, sneer at Belgian endive and note how blessed we are in America to have such abundance. He should heap his plate high, use the word green a few times and mention how much he’s done for the environment.

The candidate will notice, after a while, that his salad is getting hard to hold. This is because those cast-iron contraptions they use instead of plates are kept in a cooler (think of it as a flexible freezer). Have him set the thing down from time to time.

The main point is for the candidate to pile his plate as high as possible. He doesn’t have to eat it all; nobody does. Sheer quantity is the theme here. It might look like waste, but he’ll talk about abundance.

To put the wimp thing to rest we’ll have him chomping down on one of those monster ribs. They’re sticky and sweet and they come out on an enormous platter with a few beans on the side (he can forget about those). The candidate should let the photogs take lots of pix. Great image.

The candidate shouldn’t even attempt to finish what is on his plate. Nobody eats everything at R.J.’s. The whole point of the place is that they give you too much food. As the candidate walks out clutching the foil swans containing his leftovers, he can talk about the virtues of saving for the future.

When it comes to dessert, conventional wisdom says go for the apple pie. Not here. This is a chocolate cake place, and when he sees the slice, he’ll know we’re right. It’s the biggest piece of chocolate cake anybody’s ever seen--easily enough to feed half a dozen people. And after a few photos, the candidate can wrap that up as well.

And that is, ultimately, why he’s eating at R.J’s. A meal here says it all: Why would anybody want to vote for a new party when you can go out to eat and get so much food that you have to take half of it home?

R.J.’s the Rib Joint, 252 N. Beverly Drive, Beverly Hills. (213) 274-7427. (Also at 4880 Campus Drive, Newport Beach. (714) 752-6023. Open for lunch Monday-Saturday; for Sunday brunch, for dinner nightly. Full bar. Valet parking. Visa, MasterCard and American Express accepted. Dinner for two, food only, $25-$52.

A Meal Fit for a Duke

Warmth is the issue here, and if there’s any restaurant guaranteed to make the Iceman melt, we’ve found it. What we want is to get the candidate eating out with gusto--while avoiding the temptation to send him to a Greek restaurant. He’s already got the Greek vote.

We can get plenty of heat without leaving the country. Think Cajun--and keep in mind that Louisiana is one of the Southern states that could fall our way. He may not be hot for chile peppers, but the candidate should let the bons temps roulez and take a trip to Orleans.

When the candidate walks in he will notice that a recent fire in the restaurant has forced the closing of the damaged main floor. It’s a fine opportunity for the Duke to talk about fighting against adversity. The kitchen may be down, but the restaurant’s not defeated, and like our candidate it bravely carries on.

Once he’s upstairs the candidate should have a drink. (Remember Jimmy Carter didn’t, and look where it got him.) The Cajun martini is hot as blazes, but who knows, he might like it. Besides, anybody who’s ever had one will certainly be impressed if he finishes the thing and remains standing.

Meanwhile, the candidate should make a point of chatting up the staff; they’re known for their friendliness. Good photo op here.

The menu poses no problems. The candidate should begin with Cajun popcorn. How much more American can you get? While patriotically eating these morsels, the candidate could clown around a little, throwing the delicious fried bits of crawfish into his mouth and trying to look like he’s having a good time.

Alternatively he could go for the red beans and rice. They taste great, and the Duke could mention that Louis Armstrong signed all his letters “Red beans and ricely yours.” And with that opening the candidate can pull out his own horn and blow a few bars of “When the Saints Go Marching In.”

Are we having fun yet? Time for the entrees. No question about it, the candidate will have the blackened prime rib. The portion’s not that big, but it looks meaty and manly. He’ll like it. Besides, most of the other dishes are out of the question. We can’t have him eating paneed veal; every animal lover in the country will start to squeal. Ditto on the lamb chops. Tasso and oysters on spaghetti is out--it sounds too weird. Skip the seafood etoufee-- it tastes terrific, but we don’t want to give the other side a chance to say that our guy eats food that nobody can pronounce. As for the fish dishes--forget them. We don’t want to remind anybody about Boston Harbor.

This is rich food, and the candidate probably won’t want to eat dessert. But unless he wants to look too sensible for his own good, he’ll have to force himself. Eighty-six the bread pudding (nobody wants to hear about the thriftiness of using up stale bread) and have him order sweet potato pecan pie slathered with lots of chantilly cream. It has absolutely no redeeming virtues (other than tasting fantastic), and everybody would like to know that this candidate, like the rest of us, makes an occasional slip.

Orleans, 11705 National Blvd., West Los Angeles. (213) 479-4187. Open for lunch Monday-Friday, for dinner nightly. Full bar. Valet parking. All major credit cards accepted. Dinner for two, food only, $38-$65.