You have never met him, never heard him speak, and you have certainly never seen him, yet if your live in Philly, you know who he is. He's Craig LaBan, the renowned (and loathed) Philadelphia Inquirer restaurant critic, but for all you know, he might be that guy sitting next to you on the El.
I always thought that restaurant critics had it made. Although I've heard a few complain about the laborious work their profession entails (foie gras again?), I cannot commiserate. I know that too much of a good thing is, well, a bad thing, but if food is your life's passion, then that's another story. At the end of the day, you are getting paid to help people decide where to eat - you've got unlimited meal mileage and a loyal readership. It doesn't get much better than that.
But wait, there's a catch. Browsing through City Paper's archives, I came upon a lengthy article on the clandestine side of the restaurant critic. I began reading and realized something about the job that's so conspicuously necessary, that I never even thought about it - anonymity. As the article says, it's not something that will sabotage your tenure in a city, but imagine being recognized everytime you enter a restaurant that you're reviewing. You instantly receive fulsome attention, both from the kitchen and the waitstaff (yes, sounds great, but not when you're trying to give an unbiased review).
While in the restaurant LaBan cannot take notes, excessively push or prod his victuals, nor can he ask dubiously exacting questions. Being shrouded in such mystery all the time would get to some people, most in fact. The man couldn't even accept a prestigious journalism award due to its publicity. Maybe it isn't the coolest job in the world?
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