Word: otto
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Hell hath no fury like a restaurant critic scorned. In the world of culinary journalism, the great Otto flap caused almost as much consternation as the 1926 disappearance of Agatha Christie did in London. None of the professional eaters-out knew who Otto might be or where. Reporters pumped other reporters, chefs, food authors, anyone who might draw a bead on the wayward cuisinier. McPhee was besieged by calls; so was The New Yorker, which did not, in fact, know Otto's identity. The Washington Post published several guesses-one was correct-but did not pursue the story...
Mimi Sheraton, 53, the New York Times's remorseless food critic, and Frank Prial, 48, who writes about wine for the paper, deduced that Otto's place would most likely be fairly near McPhee's home in Princeton, N.J. They sicced a stringer onto the story, says Prial. "He called politicians in the area, figuring they like to eat, too." Indeed. The gastronomic gumshoe tracked down a Pike County Republican bigwig who confirmed the team's suspicion that the bistro described in The New Yorker was the Red Fox Inn, in Milford, Pa. However, the legendary...
Alas, poor Otto! His convert was blown. Sheraton and Prial identified the reclusive Paul Bocuse of the Poconos as one "Allen Lieb." (Actually, he spells it Alan.) As for the dishes he served these wisepersons from the city, Sheraton's comments ranged from "passable" to "truly awful," with a small grating of praise for a delicate fish pâté and a cake or two. Her summation: "Allen Lieb, sincere and well intentioned though he may be, has a long way to go both in developing his own palate for seasoning and combining ingredients, and mastering basic cooking...
...frozen turbot, that accusation stirred temblors in Manhattan stockpots. Lutece's Chef Andre Soltner indignantly produced fish market receipts to show one and all that his turbot was fresh. Lieb apologized, and the usually meticulous New Yorker, accused of publishing a canard, explained that to preserve Otto's anonymity, it had taken the exceptional step of allowing the author of the piece to do most of the checking...
Sometimes one cannot see the forestière for the trees. To be sure, the Liebs' Bullhead is not Alain Chapel's plaisanterie in Mionnay or Lasserre in Paris. Nonetheless, Alan-Otto, trained in European restaurants, and his Anna Rozmarja, who is known as Ronnie-they are both 40 years old-run a warm and welcoming restaurant that draws regular patrons from great distances. Alan's reach may exceed his grasp, and Ronnie does not always make a perfect gâteau. But they are delighted by the Sheraton pan, hoping it will defuse their new fame...