Garlic and Sapphires: The Secret Life of a Critic in Disguise

by Ruth Reichl Narrated by Bernadette Dunne

Overview

GARLIC AND SAPPHIRES is Ruth Reichl's riotous account of the many disguises she employs to dine anonymously. There is her stint as Molly Hollis, a frumpy blond with manicured nails and an off-beige Armani suit that Ruth takes on when reviewing Le Cirque. The result: her famous double review of the restaurant: first she ate there as Molly; and then as she was coddled and pampered on her visit there as Ruth, New York Times food critic.

What is even more remarkable about Reichl's spy games is that as she takes on these various disguises, she finds herself changed not just superficially, but in character as well. She gives a remarkable account of how one's outer appearance can very much influence one's inner character, expectations, and appetites.

As she writes, "Every restaurant is a theater . . . even the modest restaurants offer the opportunity to become someone else, at least for a little while." GARLIC AND SAPPHIRES is a reflection on personal identity and role playing in the decadent, epicurean theaters of the restaurant world.

Editorial Reviews

Most of us would love to receive celebrity treatment in restaurants, but for a food critic, such red carpet welcomes can pave the way to ruin. As the New York Times restaurant critic, Ruth Reichl wielded more power than any other food arbiter in the country. It's not surprising, then, that managers circulated her picture and offered bonuses for advance notice of her visits. Knowing that "to be a good restaurant critic, you have to be anonymous," Reichl went undercover, donning frumpy wigs and unstylish outfits, and presenting herself as Molly Hollis, retired Michigan high school teacher. Garlic and Sapphires records Reichl's amusing (and revealing) career as a covert critic in New York's most exclusive eateries.

David Kamp

The meat of the book, its selling point, is its revelation of the elaborate lengths to which Reichl went to conceal her identity as she reviewed restaurants, and how this affected both her work and personal life. Early on, Reichl decided to take a populist approach, shrouding herself in anonymity in order to avoid the amped-up service and extra truffle shavings and cremes brulees that restaurateurs bestow upon V.I.P. guests. In Garlic and Sapphires, she recounts how she enlisted her mother's old friend Claudia Banks, a retired acting coach, to create various non-Ruth personae for reviewing purposes, each with her own back story, wardrobe, wig and name.
— The New York Times

Jonathan Yardley

… as a memento of her time at the Times she gives us this wonderful book, which is funny -- at times laugh-out-loud funny -- and smart and wise. Maybe a bit too much food talk, but that isn't what matters, which is Reichl, and she's a gas.
— The Washngton Post

Publishers Weekly

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) Copyright 2005 Reed Business Information.

Library Journal

Reichl follows up two charming memoirs with an account of the various disguises she donned so she would not be recognized as restaurant critic of the New York Times. Copyright 2004 Reed Business Information.

Kirkus Reviews

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 atmaking long-gone meals live vividly on the page. Spicy and sweet by turns, with crackle and bite throughout. Author tour

From the Publisher

"This wonderful book is funny—at times laugh-out-loud funny—and smart and wise." —The Washington Post

"Reichl is so gifted . . . the reader remains hungry for more." —USA Today

"Expansive and funny." —Entertainment Weekly

AUG/SEP 05 - AudioFile

Reichl’s hilarious, heart-warming, mouth-watering gastronomic comedy is based on the former NEW YORK TIMES critic’s food and restaurant columns and experiences. Disguised as her own silver-haired mother or a Marilyn Monroe look-alike or a redhead, among others, Reichl differentiates the best from the pretenders among the restaurants of New York City. Best moments: little son, Nicky, learns the secret of the world-famous hash browns of The Palms, which he refuses to share with Mom, and Reichl's date (in disguise, of course) with a very sexy stranger. This is not a book for dieters; the food is simply too delectable. M.T.B. 2006 Audie Award Winner © AudioFile 2005, Portland, Maine

Product Details

BN ID:	2940169349337
Publisher:	Penguin Random House
Publication date:	04/19/2005
Edition description:	Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

"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 as my story came to a close. "And are you working on someplace special at the moment?"
 "Lespinasse," I said.  The chef is amazing.  I keep going back and every time he just blows me away.  I've been thinking about giving him four stars, but it's not something I could do casually.  Not only would it be my first four-star review, but it would also be the first time a hotel restaurant ever got four stars from the New York Times.  I can't make a mistake with this.  And here's the thing: I think they made me, even when I was there in disguise.  Everything's just a little too perfect.  So I'm trying to create a new disguise, one that is foolproof."
 "Gotcha," said Shirley, moving to a deep, wide drawer, "I have an idea."  As she opened the drawer, her bulk blocked my view, so I couldn't see what she was holding until she turned around with a cascade of hair the color of Dom Perignon spilling from her hands.  As the wig caught the light, the color changed from pearl to buttercup.  "Try this," said Shirley.
 The wig felt different in my hands-lighter, cooler-and when I put it on, the hair fell across my face as gently as silk.  I squeezed my eyes tight, not wanting to look until it was seated right, holding my breath, wanting this to be the one.  I could feel it settle into place, feel the soft strands graze my shoulders just below my ears.
 "Wait!" said Shirley as I started to open my eyes, and she leaned forward and began tugging the wig, adjusting it.  She slid the hair on my left side behind my ear and pulled the hair on the right forward so that it fell across one eye.  Her hand cradled the hair under my cheek, then let it fall.  "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."
 In the mirror, Shirley caught my eye.  "I told you there was a right wig for everyone!" she said, but her face did not match her matter-of-fact tone.  "You look fabulous!" she said, looking absolutely amazed.
 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.
 "You were meant to be a blonde!" cried Shirley.  And then, as I watched, her face fell.
 "What's the matter?" I asked.
 She hesitated for a moment, and I was afraid she was going to tell me that the wig was already sold.  "It's real hair," she whispered sadly, and I was so relieved I burst out laughing.
 "Is that all?" I asked.
 Then she told me the price.  It was shocking, but even if Lespinasse had not been in my future, I could never have left without the wig.  I felt new, glamorous, bursting with curiosity.  What would life be like for the woman in the mirror?
 "I wish I could let you have it for less," said Shirley apologetically.  "But it's very good hair, and I've just quoted the price that I paid."
 "I have a feeling it's going to be worth every penny," I said.
 Shirley packed the wig into an old-fashioned hatbox and handed it to me.  "You'll come back and tell me what happens, won't you?" she asked wistfully.
 "You mean whether I fool the restaurant?" I asked.
 "Well," she said, "that too.  But what I mostly want to know is, when you're a blonde, do you have more fun?"

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