Maybe I had to have been there, but I was a little surprised to see the bestest new chefs were announced at the tiredest old restaurant. Last time I was there it looked like an outtake from “The Shining.” I know it was chosen because of its own bright new star, but that says something, too. Rich fucks don’t want adventurous food; they want their baked potatoes and Diet Coke. Bring in the new and it can never last (can you say Anne Rosenzweig 21 times?) Staging a huge event pegged to transitory talent would be like booking your wedding anywhere “I’m a Chef, Get Me Out of Here” is cooking. . . .