Restaurant critic is taking off his mask
Social media has made anonymous food reviews essentially impossible
In perhaps the most anticlimactic Chicago moment since Geraldo Rivera pried open Al Capone’s vault, I’m showing my face to the world for the first time in nearly 30 years. Funny; I thought I’d be taller. I’ve been the Tribune’s restaurant critic since 1989, and ever since, I’ve gone to considerable lengths to hide my face from the fine-dining world. Reservations made under assumed names. Credit cards in names other than my own. Off-camera TV “appearances.” A steadfast refusal to participate in public events of any kind.
Afew spectacular failures notwithstanding, I’ve been a pretty successful ghost over the years. Search for my face online, and you won’t find anything useful. There still are hundreds of restaurants that have no idea what I look like. Last week, I visited a downtown hotel dining room, and the general indifference and glacial pace of the service assured me that, in this restaurant’s eyes, I was just another guy off the street.
Which of course is the goal. I want restaurants to treat me like another guy off the street.
But that’s getting harder to ensure. Five days earlier, I walked into a different restaurant, without a reservation (I showed up before 6:30 p.m. to beat the rush), and was seated quickly. Fifteen minutes later, I overheard a woman standing by the bar telling her companion that she’d just been quoted a three-hour wait. Hmm. And that’s where I find myself today. The smart operators, the big kids, have sussed me out. Restaurants have gotten so sophisticated managing data and working social media (looking up reservation names to see if they correspond to real people, for instance) that maintaining anonymity is a constant battle. And my losses are mounting.
This has, I fear, created an uneven playing field, giving an advantage to restaurants clever enough to recognize me and smart enough not to let it show. I like to think I can tell when I’ve been spotted, but who knows? Should Restaurant A be faulted for making an error that Restaurant B knew better than to make?
I could try a major personal makeover —shave my head, drop 60 pounds —but I don’t really want to do the former, and I’ve never had much success at the latter.
Instead, I’m taking the mask off. For anybody who really wants to know what I look like, here you go.
This may not turn inadequate service into spectacular service. But it’s fair.
And, to my readers, it’s more honest. I’ve always made a point of disclosing in my reviews when service took a suspicious VIP turn, but I suspect I’m being recognized more often than I realize.
Renouncing my anonymity is less of a bold move than it is an acknowledgement of reality. And, I’m hardly the first restaurant critic to take this plunge. Alison Cook of the Houston Chronicle unmasked herself six years ago, Los Angeles Times critic Jonathan Gold ended his anonymity in 2015 and Laura Reiley of the Tampa Bay Times went public in January.
There’s another motivation. As journalism has become more of a digital enterprise than a paper-and-ink one, the role of video, in making real connections with our readers/ viewers, has expanded exponentially. It’s an avenue of storytelling that I’ve avoided for years, and I think it’s time to stop avoiding it.
This is not going to change the way I go about my job. I still plan to show up unannounced, using pseudonyms for making reservations and paying the bills. My photo isn’t going to be plastered alongside every review; don’t look for me on billboards, mattress testimonials or “Dancing With the Stars.”
I might make the occasional public appearance, beginning Aug. 7 at the launch party for the Chicago Tribune Food Bowl.
Apologies to those who already knew what I looked like and thought it was fun to know what I looked like because most people didn’t know what I looked like.
Apologies, also, to those who couldn’t care less, but, in my defence, you read this all the way to the end.
See you around, probably. Try not to point.