Yesterday, we discovered that the District’s drunk driving law allows arrests for driving even after just one drink. And we know this law’s disastrous unintended consequence: It has prompted a wistfully superior essay from Washington’s most famous former hostess, Sally Quinn. We suspect she left a fill-in-the-blank form for them on her desk when she left the Post. Hark, let us revisit her golden years:
There would be martinis and Dubonnet at cocktail time. Dinner would begin with terrapin soup and sherry, then move on to the turbot and a sincere Sancerre. Next would come the beef Wellington, accompanied by a decent Mouton Rothschild. We would stay with the red wine through the salad and cheese course, and naturally crepes suzette would require Dom Perignon. After dinner, when the gentlemen retired to the library and the ladies upstairs with the hostess, the postprandial liqueurs would be served.
Quinn may be nostalgic for those days, we just feel mildly queasy about them. Cost-cutting cheese plates and Australian wine never sounded so good. One thing, however, hasn’t changed: “How do you think people get through these parties anyway? It’s not by drinking Diet Coke.”