There are two kinds of happy hours in the nation’s capital: Those hosted by Creationists and those hosted by Darwinists. At the Creationists’ happy hours, food, drink and space thrive in abundance, not unlike God’s Earth before the Fall of Man. Two strangers might strike up conversation over a half-priced draft and an early ball game on the flat screen; parties of six arrive in twos with little fanfare. The Creationist host skimps on neither the hours nor the portions during its happy hour—think Recessions on L Street or Fox and Hounds’ in Dupont.

Conversely, Darwinist happy hours often pit reveler against reveler in a Hobbesian state of yuppie nature. Although there may be worthwhile drink specials to enjoy, there is only one bartender to serve the throng. The happy hour might be timed to end just as most reasonably-employed patrons can arrive at the venue, resulting in a stock exchange-like ordering experience before the clock marks the return of regular prices.
Most common at Darwinist happy hours is the admonition that happy hour prices exist “at the bar only.” And, inevitably, there is a lack of adequate seating, and sometimes even standing room, at these bars.

If only because it is one of the most popular restaurants in the District, Matchbox is happy hour Darwinism in raw form. By 6:30 p.m. on cold and rainy April weekdays, there is a crowd assembled outside the front door waiting for tables. Even with its much-touted recent expansion, Matchbox can hardly find enough seats to sit everyone who wants to eat there.

Picture of Matchbox’ miniburger courtesy of dl004d.