Criticism and the Deconstruction of Falling Stars

By: Scotty Harris

Na'Kal: The smell! The taste...
G'Kar: It's an Earth food. They are called Swedish meatballs. It's a strange thing, but every sentient race has its own version of these Swedish meatballs! I suspect it's one of those great universal mysteries which will either never be explained, or which would drive you mad if you ever learned the truth.

Let me be blunt--I am a SciFi geek. I am an unrepentant first generation Trekkie who can tell you what TOS episode is on within milliseconds. You should know that there is a long history of SciFi and food. From Robby making hooch for Earl Holliman, to the crew of the Discovery eating that baby food like stuff, to the joys of Gagh (Klingon Bloodworms--best eaten alive).

No SciFi show that I am aware of had as much fun with food as Babylon 5 (No. 2 on my top 5). The Bagna Cauda episode still cracks me up. The only thing you need to know about Bab 5 for the purpose of this story is that there is one episode which always comes to mind when I think of restaurant reviews. The plot lends itself to the discussion--a tale of how the heroes' lives are examined through the lens of time, disposition, agenda and opinion.

It's really about the episode title though. It's the title to this piece. Read it again and guess where this is going.

I don't do restaurant reviews, and frankly I don't want to. Oh, I'll talk about a special meal, but usually in general terms. I will share food porn. But I don't want to get in the business of reviewing. A large part is because I know that even when I have a meal that really sucks, a cook is in the kitchen sweating his/her ass off.

It's not that I have anything against criticism in general, or food criticism in particular. There is something to be offered through criticism. Heck, Jeff Miers, a local music critic, got me to re-examine an album by my favorite band that was near the bottom of my list.

Restaurant criticism hits close to home, for obvious reasons. Yet it is also the format that has the most direct effect on the creator. A bad movie review won't kill a movie. In fact, there of plenty of hacks who will give you positive blurb for an ad. But a bad review can kill a restaurant. A good one can too, but that's another story. The problem is the mythology that has developed around food criticism. It's almost like Papal Infallibility. "I declare this restaurant good." Thus it is.

Let us bust a few of those myths.

1. The myth of objectivity. I cannot think of a profession more subjective than criticism. Food criticism may be the most subjective of all. We are not just talking about taste. For instance, Chef Deb Clark of Delish could make her best cake ever, perhaps even the best cake ever made in the history of man, and to me, it would still taste like a spackle-coated sponge (I just don't like cake, it is one of the two foods I don't eat), means that we are speaking of a wide range of influences. Her cookies on the other hand, are to die for. In the words of Leonard Pitts, in a different context, "Every individual is a compilation of culture, experience, opinions, emotions and personal biases, so every judge brings baggage to the table." One person's brilliant combination of flavors is another's drek.

2. The myth of one visit. I need to be very clear here, I have the utmost sympathy for this issue. In their heyday, small city papers couldn't afford more than this. Today, when newspaper workers fear the possibility of a pink slip in each paycheck, it's more so. Yet you cannot accurately rate a restaurant on one visit. The Association of Food Journalists (AFJ) recommends at least two visits to a restaurant at different times of day. I have no solution to this other than a legal disclaimer: "This review is based on a single meal and may not be representative of the actual quality of the restaurant."

3. The myth of anonymity. This is less of a myth than one of several affectations left over from an age long gone. Let me be clear. I know what you look like. I have known for more than 10 years, long before you were sitting at the next table for lunch at SeaBar some weeks ago. Everybody in the restaurant business knows what you look like, and we share that information. Frank Bruni, the former critic at The New York Times, recently pointed out that the age of camera phones and the internet "have made it harder for critics to keep a low physical profile." So, unless you have Ruth Reichl's costume collection, you have to assume your cover has been blown.

Bruni also points out that there isn't much a restaurant can do when the critic is recognized. You can't train or hire new waitstaff. Your bartender is still your bartender. If you give extra special treatment to a critic, they're gonna know. In the back of the house, what is in your cooler is what it is, as is how you prepare it. The most you can do, to paraphrase Julia Child, is to put your fingers all over it. Make it look prettier. I did. Mea culpa.

4. The myth of impartiality. This is less of an opinion than what Han and Luke used to say (I told you I was a geek). "I have a bad feeling about this." No actual proof, mind you, but it looks to me like some reviewers have their favorites. It has been echoed by friends in the food blogosphere. It seems to be most prevalent in areas where the restaurant reviewer is also the primary food writer. You need sources for you articles, and those sources get more frequent coverage and better ratings. The opposite can also be true.YMMV.

5. The myth of the need for a weekly review. This is the only point that I will limit to Western New York, even if it applies elsewhere. We have a bunch of really, really good restaurants here. We have great cooks, and dedicated restaurateurs. But, even including some great restaurants in Southern Ontario, I just don't think we have enough restaurants to justify a weekly review. 

We have "Cheap Eats" every Friday in The Buffalo News' Gusto, which covers the small places that delight me--Luzvina's anyone? But, in order to fill up 52 weeks of reviews the reviewer needs to hit the national chains. I am sorry: The Cheesecake Factory should not be compared to Hutch's. These cooks sweat, and bleed and burn like the rest of us, but the food is the culinary equivalent of Soviet Era Central Planning. Besides, this is what Urbanspoon is for. Go monthly. Which brings us to:

6. The myth that ratings mean anything. This is the deconstruction of falling stars. The ratings are meaningless. In legal terms, this is called "arbitrary and capricious". I know they are expected by the masses, but get over it.

Let me give you a practical example. About 10 years ago, I got 3 stars for a dinner I cooked for a local critic (yes, that's when I learned what you look like). A month or so ago, a friend also got three stars from the same critic. Not a bad rating. The difference is, that he was doing is balls to the walls cooking. I was doing the "early diner" menu, a compromise with management to fill in the 4 p.m. -  6 p.m. time slot with AARP members. It wasn't bad food, but it wasn't what we did after 6, and it is certainly not what my friend was cooking. Sometimes it's not "apples and oranges", it's "apples and carburetors". 

By any commonly acceptable standards, I could give 4 to a perfect Ted's hot dog, but I wouldn't compare it to dinner at Daniel's.

What really irks me, is how unnecessary the stars really are. A reviewer is not only paid for their palate and knowledge of food, they are paid for their prose. If they cannot communicate their impressions of a restaurant in their written words, than they should seek another profession. Heck, I'm not paid, but you wouldn't be reading this if my editor didn't think my writing was of value.

So, try this experiment. For the next few months, when a review shows up in a magazine, online or in a newspaper, have your version of "The Companion" excise the rating. Can you make a decision without the ratings? Does the rating match the review? There is a link below to my blog. E-mail your experiences.

Here endeth the lesson.

Citizen G'Kar: Do you want to be president?
Captain John Sheridan: Yes.
Citizen G'Kar: Then put your hand on the book and say I do.
Captain John Sheridan: I do. 
Citizen G'Kar: Good, let's eat.



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Scotty Harris is a recovering attorney, occasional caterer, food blogger and full time dad.  He has cooked at DACC'S, Warren's and Fredi. None of them are still open. You can find him at cookingintheory.blogspot.com