Letter to the Critic

A reader writes: “I happened to be dining at a restaurant when a local critic arrived and made sure that every employee and diner there knew exactly who they [sic] were. I wondered if this person’s review could be objective? Your profile is quite high these days. I’m wondering about the steps you take to be objective?”

The topic of how restaurant critics go about their business, the nature of their expertise, and the value of anonymity are front and center these days, especially since restaurateur Jeffrey Chodorow’s full-page broadside of New York Times critic Frank Bruni appeared in the Times.

At Mpls.St. Paul Magazine, we wait a minimum of one month before we begin the review process. While I believe “open for business” means eateries are fair game for evaluation, they are notoriously not-ready-for-prime-time when they open. To not afford a modicum of breathing space guarantees a lot of bad reviews for restaurants that would otherwise get good ones. (I visit a restaurant a minimum of two times before writing.)

The first-weeks chaos is largely due to inadequate staff training. Few restaurants can afford or are willing to pay staff for two or more weeks of training when the cash register is not ringing. They really need to. Some need far longer than the month we give them. My colleague Peter Lilienthal just finished reviewing a high-profile new restaurant and couldn’t recommend it, so we are giving it more time, because we think it will ultimately improve. If we can’t recommend a restaurant, we don’t write about it, so a long-term absence from our pages does imply something.

When it comes to anonymity, or lack of it, I admit that I am probably recognized more frequently than most local critics, but it’s also true that there is not a single local dining critic whose tenure is less than five years. We are all regularly “made” by experienced restaurant people.

The perceived value of anonymity is based on the premise that a restaurant can create a different experience for a critic who is recognized. This is one of the greatest myths in the food biz. Most restaurants lack the staff to rev-up the service at my table, and if one tries, things become so jumbled and obsequious that it subverts the goal. A quick peek at other tables tells me all I need to know about typical service standards. As for the culinary aspect: The menu is the menu, the recipe is the recipe, the chef’s skill level is the chef’s skill level. As my editor often says to skeptical readers, “A D+ restaurant cannot make itself into a B+ restaurant when it realizes Andrew is in the house.”

My most valuable asset as a critic is my experience. I worked in restaurants and kitchens for twenty years before I started writing about them. I know how a dish should be prepared and taste. I have a global frame of reference that allows me to parse the nonsense that diners are so often fed by misinformed or inexperienced servers and cooks. When a restaurant calls stringy back fin crabmeat “jumbo lump” and charges me for the high-end stuff, I have an informed palate and opinion.

The majority of restaurant critics in this town, and around the country, are not as experienced or knowledgeable as the job requires. You do not have to have played in the Rose Bowl to broadcast the game, but having a conversant knowledge of the food world’s depth and breadth is necessary if you are going to compare and contrast the places that make up the milieu.

My high profile can distort minor aspects of my dining experiences, but I’d argue that what I bring to the table in expertise and experience more than makes up for it. But ultimately, it’s the reader who decides.