But school didn’t prepare me for the reality of an angry restaurateur threatening to poison me (it happened after a story I wrote deservedly lead to a license suspension) and irate readers cancelling their subscriptions because of me (it happens all the time).
After 10 years as the Star’s restaurant critic, I’ve learned some hard-won lessons: Always check the
DineSafe restaurant inspection report before deciding where to eat; never polish off the breadbasket before the entrée arrives; and accept the fact that when I write negatively about a restaurant, it will be seen as a personal insult to everyone who likes it.
Other precepts guide me in my job. And since I’m asked so often about what it takes to be a food reviewer, I thought I’d lift the veil. (Yes, there are disguises.)
So here is my guide on how to be a restaurant critic.
Be anonymous: The biggie. A reviewer must get the same dining experience you get, and if they knew who I was I’d get VIP treatment. I hide in plain sight. I make reservations under fake names, although not so fake as to draw attention, i.e., Julia Caesar. I constantly alter my hair, makeup and clothing style to create characters, like former New York Times critic Ruth Reichl describes in her memoir Garlic and Sapphires. About the only disguise I haven’t adopted is that of a man. (Yet.)
I prefer to dine with people whose professions require confidentiality: doctors, lawyers, nurses, journalists, therapists, hairdressers and teachers. These people also happen to be my friends, and they know not to say my name in front of the server.
It can be a cat-and-mouse game. In New York, critics’ photos are posted in the kitchen. I avoid cameras like a vampire does the sun. Still, out of thousands of covert meals, a few intuitive types have figured who I am. The first time it happened, years ago at Via Allegro in Etobicoke, the chef came out of the kitchen with a plate of raw veal chops to boast about their quality. It was awkward. The last time it happened, a few months ago, the chef kept it to himself until after I left, when he texted me my fake reservation name. At least there was no raw meat parade.
Be persistent: I go at least twice to a restaurant for my Dining Out review on Saturday. It takes multiple visits to pinpoint strengths and weaknesses. Timing matters, too: Dining on a busy night versus a quiet one lets me assess the restaurant’s capacity to handle stress, a benchmark of good hospitality. Occasionally, like at the long-gone Café Brussel on the Danforth, my positive first impression is flattened by a disappointing second meal, in which case I return for a tiebreaker. The reverse can be true, as at Left Bank, a North York bistro I visited last April where a staff shortage was rectified.
Multiple visits also fall under the heading of fairness. So does checking facts and interviewing chefs, though this is hard. In this business, critics are often discouraged from interviewing the principles because it’s harder to write impartially if you’re commenting on someone you’ve talked to and liked — perhaps even empathized with. I am human, after all.
Be consistent: I can’t abide bad service. Last year, I had a server at P.J. Chang’s shrug when I asked how a dish was made; another try to clear my plate at Playpen before I finished; and one neglected to bring a glass of wine I was charged for at Café Boulud. Treating guests with skill and respect is essential in the restaurant industry. I will call you out for missing the mark.
Such consistency is key to any kind of criticism. So I learned from Peter Howell, the Star’s movie critic, whom I once pumped for advice over lunch.
“Readers learn to gauge your standards against their own, but only if you’re consistent,” he said. “That’s how readers trust you, even if it’s to disagree with you every week. They’re disagreeing with you consistently.”
Be active: There’s no way around it: Caloric intake requires caloric ouptut.
I eat three review meals a week: two dinners and one lunch. To offset that, I joined a gym. I tell myself every drop of sweat in spin class equals one mouthful of a working meal. I also started to jog: I burned 26,380 calories in 99 runs last year, according to my Nike Plus app.
As for the weightlifting? That’s for the 18 meals a week I eat on my own time.
Be prepared at parties: Besides “how’d you get my dream job?” there’s one more question I’m always ready for: “What’s the best restaurant in Toronto?”
It’s an impossible question to answer. Unlike movies, which always unspool the same way, restaurants change every night. Once I review a place, I don’t go back. That includes even the four-star places, such as the beautifully surreal Blacktree in Burlington. I’ve got to move on.
The best thing, I’ve learned, is to ask instead where my fellow party goer likes to eat. I’ve had some pretty good meals thanks to the recommendations of strangers.
