The open kitchen, for instance, is simultaneously the blessing and bane of a reviewer’s life. It’s wonderful to see chefs at work, assess the cleanliness of the kitchen and the efficiency of the staff and savour the delicious aromas of the food before it actually appears. However, if I can see them, then they can see me and no one likes being watched while they eat. You can’t blame the chefs, they’re curious to watch you chew through their creations. So I have now perfected my ‘Oscar’ face. Whatever I think of the food I’m devouring, my smile remains fixed in place; winner or loser, I give nothing away.
Therein lies another conundrum. What if you don’t like the food you are presented? And I don’t mean dislike as in it’s slightly over-salted, I mean something you truly cannot eat, regardless of how lovingly it was prepared. You see, reviewers don’t always get to choose from the menu, as many chefs decide what they want you to try. Presented with a starter of oysters at Strata, up on the 55th floor of Doha’s Intercontinental, I was impressed - they were clearly at the top of the gastronomical greatness league. Trouble is, I don’t like oysters.
It’s moments like this when you’re suddenly transported back to childhood and the how-can-I-make-mother-think-I’ve-eaten-it ruse. With no mash to hide it under, no dog to discreetly feed it to and the nearest plant pot just out of arm’s reach, this is where the dining partner comes into their own. Already in your debt for the free meal they’re eating – as we all know, nothing’s free in this world - it’s their job to eat what you don’t like and then describe the taste and texture for your write-up. Problem solved. Unless, that is, you’re dining with someone who has an unsophisticated palate and limited adjectives. ‘Slimy and salty’ was all my partner in question could muster. So now, I make sure someone who appreciates fine food accompanies me.
Dieting is an issue. I always start out with good intentions, especially at this time of year when losing weight tops most resolution lists but it usually ends up being mission impossible. I was on a no-carb diet once when I happened to be reviewing Quisine, Guy Savoy’s new restaurant out on The Pearl. My steely determination melted like warm butter when I was presented with not a breadbasket, but an entire bread trolley. I topped this by unwittingly selecting the Prestige menu, which consisted of nine courses, each with its own complementary homemade bread. That was the end of that.
Many chefs are also eager to present an array of their signature dishes, rather than just one or two. Heading up Gordon Ramsay and Opal at the St. Regis is one of my favourite chefs in Qatar, Michelin-starred Gilles Bosquet. As I reviewed Opal he brought to the table not only his incredible talent but also chilli salt and pepper squid, hammour ceviche, a four-cheese pizza, the signature Opal burger and roasted red snapper. You understand now why I ran the Dubai half-marathon last year.
In addition to playing havoc with your figure, reviewing can also, on occasion, be detrimental to your health. I’m on the panel of a well-known magazine’s restaurant awards and I’m assigned categories to test and assess. A few years ago, we were running behind. I was given Indian restaurants and I had around a week to run up a shortlist. I love Indian food but the repercussions of eating it every night for ten days stayed with me long after I’d crunched my last poppadum.
So yes, it can be fun but there are so many trials and tribulations before you even sit down to write, which is when you realise that heartburn is your constant companion and there are only so many ways to say ‘delicious’.
