Garlic and sapphires

Review by Booklist Review

This third volume of Reichl's autobiography covers her years as the New York Times' powerful restaurant critic, and readers of her previous books will relish the tales of her life at the summit of her power. Having been lured east from a successful stint in Los Angeles, Reichl faces a hideously competitive market, where even her predecessor seems out to get her. She adopts a number of disguises to keep restaurant owners from recognizing her. Repeated visits to Le Cirque, Sirio Maccioni's lionized temple of dining, yield wildly differing experiences, so she pens a so-so review only to find out it's the publisher's favorite restaurant. Reichl's insistence on reviewing non-mainstream restaurants upsets those who think Manhattan ends at Central Park North. Reichl offers few other insights into the inner workings of the nation's most powerful newspaper. Some of the book's most affecting episodes involve her young son's love of potatoes in all forms. And a touching encounter with a homeless man in the subway after a particularly chic and elegant lunch outlines the ironies of her profession. Reichl reproduces a number of her most significant reviews, and she also offers recipes for favorite dishes. --Mark Knoblauch Copyright 2005 Booklist

From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.

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Review by Publisher's Weekly Review

As the New York Times's restaurant critic for most of the 1990s, Reichl had what some might consider the best job in town; among her missions were evaluating New York City's steakhouses, deciding whether Le Cirque deserved four stars and tracking down the best place for authentic Chinese cuisine in Queens. Thankfully, the rest of us can live that life vicariously through this vivacious, fascinating memoir. The book-Reichl's third-lifts the lid on the city's storied restaurant culture from the democratic perspective of the everyday diner. Reichl creates wildly innovative getups, becoming Brenda, a red-haired aging hippie, to test the food at Daniel; Chloe, a blonde divorcee, to evaluate Lespinasse; and even her deceased mother, Miriam, to dine at 21. Such elaborate disguises-which include wigs, makeup, thrift store finds and even credit cards in other names-help Reichl maintain anonymity in her work, but they also do more than that. "Every restaurant is a theater," she explains. Each one "offer[s] the opportunity to become someone else, at least for a little while. Restaurants free us from mundane reality." Reichl's ability to experience meals in such a dramatic way brings an infectious passion to her memoir. Reading this work-which also includes the finished reviews that appeared in the newspaper, as well as a few recipes-ensures that the next time readers sit down in a restaurant, they'll notice things they've never noticed before. Agent, Kathy Robbins. (On sale Apr. 11) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

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Review by Library Journal Review

When Reichl, currently editor in chief of Gourmet magazine, left the Los Angeles Times to become the restaurant critic for the New York Times in the 1990s, she learned that a prerequisite for her new job was the "ability to be anonymous." It seemed that every New York City restaurant was watching for her, so Reichl created a few disguises. What she never expected was that these assumed personas would not only affect her reviews but that they would also teach Reichl something different about herself. In between describing her adventures reviewing such restaurants as Le Cirque and the Four Seasons, Reichl details her family life in elegantly spare prose. The author's wonderful personal recipes add their own flavor to this entertaining book, a natural for any reader who enjoyed Reichl's two other beautifully written culinary memoirs (Tender at the Bone; Comfort Me with Apples) or who lapped up Mimi Sheraton's Eating My Words: An Appetite for Life. Wise and thoroughly satisfying; highly recommended for all public libraries. [See Prepub Alert, LJ 12/04.]-John Charles, Scottsdale P.L., AZ (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

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Review by Kirkus Book Review

Tasty revelations of Gourmet magazine editor Reichl's undercover antics as the former food critic at the New York Times. Some readers might pause at the thought of a third volume of memoirs from a woman not even through her middle age, but for foodies with a penchant for the inside scoop, Reichl's behind-the-scenes stories of the Gray Lady deliver the goods. Before working at the Times, Reichl was quite happy writing restaurant reviews at the Los Angeles Times; she was wooed and won in spite of her misgivings. Almost immediately, her photo was posted in restaurant kitchens across the city. In response, Reichl embarked on a cloak-and-dagger--or wig-and-pseudonym--campaign that she carried on through her tenure at the paper. Her first role was as the fictional Molly Hollis; to achieve the transformation, Reichl donned the wig, suit, padding and makeup she imagined for the character of a midwestern, middle-aged, former schoolteacher. She also dressed up as a flamboyant redhead, a nearly invisible elderly lady, and her own inimitable mother. Where Reichl went, controversy followed. As Molly Hollis, she had a dreadful experience at Le Cirque, prompting her to take away the restaurant's fourth star. A casual Californian, she widened the paper's scope to include as many truly fine restaurants as she could find, touting soba, bulgogi and sushi to readers more accustomed to reading about Continental cuisine. Here, some characters are disguised, while others, such as her predecessor Bryan Miller, whose campaign against her was revealed in the gossip column of the New York Post, are right out in the open. Reichl also discusses her disrupted family life. And then there's the food: Reichl excels at making long-gone meals live vividly on the page. Spicy and sweet by turns, with crackle and bite throughout. Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

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"I'm a restaurant critic," I told the woman in the wig shop, "and I need a disguise that will keep me from being recognized." "That's a new one on me," she said. "Do you have a special restaurant you're working on at the moment?" "Yes," I said, remembering the fragrant aroma of the soup I had eaten on my last visit to Lespinasse. When I dipped my spoon into the broth shimeji mushrooms went sliding sensuously across my tongue with the lush texture of custard. I tasted lemongrass, kaffir lime, mushroom and something else, something that hovered at the edge of my mind, familiar but elusive. I took another taste and it was there again, that sweetness, hiding just behind the citrus. It came whirling into my consciousness and then slid maddeningly away before I could identify it. "The food was wonderful," I told her, "but I think they made me. Everything's been just a little too perfect. So I want a foolproof disguise." "Try this," she said, opening a drawer and pulling out a cascade of hair the color of Dom Perignon. As the wig caught the light the color changed from pearl to buttercup. The hair fell across my face as gently as silk. I squeezed my eyes tight, not wanting to look until it was seated right. I could feel it settle into place, feel the soft strands graze my shoulders just below my ears. "Wait!" she cried as my eyes started to open, and she leaned forward and tugged at the wig, adjusting it. "Okay," she said at last, "you can open your eyes now." The champagne blonde in the mirror did not seem to be wearing a wig. The hair looked real, as if it were growing out of the scalp. Even the dark eyebrows looked right, as if this woman had so much confidence she didn't care who knew that she dyed her hair. My mouth dropped open. "Oh!" I said stupidly, "oh my." I don't think I would have recognized myself if we had met walking down the street, and I had yet to put on any makeup. Somehow this cut, this color, made my cheeks pink, my eyes almost violet, my lips seem redder than they had ever been. I felt new, glamorous, bursting with curiosity. What would life be like for the woman in the mirror? "You were meant to be blonde!" cried the saleswoman, packing the wig into an old-fashioned hatbox. She looked wistfully at the hair and said, "You'll come back and tell me what happens, won't you?" "You mean whether I'm recognized at Lespinasse?" "Well," she said, "that too. But what I mostly want to know is--do blondes really have more fun?" Excerpted from Garlic and Sapphires: The Secret Life of a Critic in Disguise by Ruth Reichl All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

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