I hope whoever used my name to reserve at Benoit got more out of it than I would have. I almost always hide behind whomever I’m eating with, but when I called to reserve for my consort’s birthday I figured Alain Ducasse would have no idea who the hell I am (if he did, his minions would have responded to my pissed-off letter many years ago after we had a disastrous dinner and breakfast at his then-new auberge in Provence). Turned out this one-of-a-kind name was in the system with an 873 prefix. Stupidly, I did not let the reservationist rattle off the other digits so that I could play Nancy Drew. Now that I hear our onetime Paris lunch companion Jean-Jacques should be cooking the chicken as well as the quenelles and cassoulet, I’m half-relieved we will be eating somewhere else. Which we will be doing because no one bothered to answer my request to change the reservation to the early bird special. But in reading the initial reports on Barca BBQ, I’ve been reminded why it really is so important to eat anonymously. Freebies do skew your judgment. . . .