They are two of the most expensive restaurants in town.

One is downtown and within walking distance of the Capitol, where elected officials bear the burden of making the state a better place while telling stories about eye-patch undergarments on open-mike night.

Ella Dining Room and Bar on K Street features perhaps the prettiest, most elegant room around, with an eye-popping wine list and an equally impressive offering of cocktails (a $180 glass of Louis XIII cognac is a nice way to wind down the evening).

The other, Slocum House, is stately and decidedly old-fashioned, tucked away in a leafy, semirural village where chickens on the lam waddle along roadways, roost in trees and wake all the neighbors at 5 a.m.

A dinner for two at either can easily cost $200 and take about three hours from hello to farewell.

In other words, Slocum House and Ella are destinations for big events in your life – an anniversary, a birthday, a promotion, one last expense account binge before the indictment, whatever the case may be.

Both of these first-rate restaurants recently hired new chefs. Both places feature service so polished that it's a treat simply to watch the staffs at work.

The time is right for a straight-up comparison of two chefs bound to influence the culinary landscape here. After pondering the performances of both kitchens, talking at length with the two new chefs, and drawing my own conclusions, I found myself overcome with anxiety. My first impressions didn't necessarily match my lasting impressions.

The experience revealed to me once again the traits in my personality that don't always serve me well – my inclination to judge too soon and draw distinctions too readily.

Part of the problem is these two talented chefs. They are very different, as distinct in tone and temperament as Beyoncé and Taylor Swift. While it pains me to concur with that boor who hijacked the microphone at the Video Music Awards, I've always trended toward "bootilicious."

Gabriel Glasier of Slocum House is the kind of cook I am drawn to naturally. Dynamic and daring, he seems obsessed with the idea of creating great food and pushing himself in new ways, whether it's a classic American pork chop transported to the Pacific Rim with honey and hoisin glaze over an almond wood grill or the summer vegetable pot pie with brie cream. His dishes are bold, beautiful strokes with intricate technique and delicious flavor combinations.

"I eat, dream and breathe food all the time," Glasier said when we chatted by phone. "I'm constantly pushing myself to get to the next level. Think of all the wonderful things happening in food worldwide. Why limit yourself?"

Kelly McCown is not that guy. He's not a fan of a lot of what's happening in food worldwide, especially the "molecular gastronomy" craze that trickled down from some of the greatest restaurants on the planet.

"I can appreciate its sensibilities, but I'm not big on foams or chemicals or manipulating things too much. It feels too egotistical. I want the ingredient itself to really shine," McCown told me.

His first inclination when beautiful food arrives from the farm? "How can I treat this as gently as possible?"

McCown can be spotted shopping for ingredients at the Wednesday farmers market at Cesar Chavez Plaza, often bumping into Michael Tuohy, executive chef of Grange Restaurant and the city's newest hero in the slow food movement.

I didn't grasp that during my first visit to Ella under the new chef. I left disappointed, underwhelmed. Part of it was my fault – I somehow missed ordering his best work. I stumbled into the portion of the menu that was safe and, alas, dull: the nicely flavored meatball appetizer that was presented in such a stark way that it simply suggested a lack of effort; the pappardelle with poached egg and crispy prosciutto that once was so new and now seems so out of place and impersonal.

I also waded through a delicious, albeit overcooked, flatiron steak that was plated in such a woeful way – thin slices of beef plunked down on a plate full of white corn, that I was tempted to wonder whether this fellow's résumé says Flying Fish from Seattle or the Flying J off I-5.