As a rabid gourmand, I'd be lying if I said my stomach didn't leap a bit at their coming. And yet, because we have worked so hard to earn our own culinary place, there's also a parallel constriction of my heart, a burning twinge of protectionism.

Aren't Ducasse and Robuchon culinary carpetbaggers taking advantage of our Midwestern hospitality and standing upon the labor of our pioneers? Despite our success, the Tribune's Good Eating section still features a syndicated column from Wolfgang Puck. Hasn't Charlie Trotter or Paul Kahan at Blackbird earned a voice in our local pages? Legends, especially French demigods, cast long shadows, ones that may shroud our own identity.

I realize this is a very un-American concept, but it does seem to work. The French way is not about deprivation. Their main dishes are bathed in lush sauces, their desserts are irresistible culinary masterpieces. They make the effort to make sure their food is fresh and flavorful, with the payoff that their satisfaction — and most importantly, their satiation — will come from quality instead of quantity.