William Grimes, Times restaurant critic. - By William Grimes

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Posted Thursday, Dec. 20, 2001, at 10:47 AM ET

Who is this person?

After the dining section comes out, I usually feel free to loaf for a while, but this day is crowded with events. Many packages arrive courtesy of our UPS man, the most sullen, angry individual ever to don the chocolate uniform. He seems to take it as a personal insult that people send packages. His usual protocol is to wordlessly thrust the electronic logbook at me to sign, smolder silently, then rip it out of my hands and leave. Not a word is exchanged. Yesterday, Nancy said, "You know, I have this strange feeling that he expects a Christmas tip." She might be right. He has suddenly taken to saying, "Have a nice day," and on one occasion his mouth twisted into a horrible rictus that might have been an experimental smile.

The two guys from North Carolina who deliver a computer desk could give him some lessons. They manage to squeeze a sizable, very heavy oak desk up my stairs and even solve the problem of how to get an object 29 and a quarter inches wide through a 29-inch doorway. It stumped them for a while, but you could see there was no way they were going to carry that thing back down the stairs. I did not get to see the solution because I had to do a radio interview on my cocktail book, one of several organized by a very sharp little company hired by my publisher. I have delighted radio audiences from San Bernardino to New Haven with tales of the martini and the sidecar. Some of these shows mystify me. I'll hear the plaintive strains of Metallica or AC/DC leading into my segment, and then the 1,000-watt voice of the local shock jock who wants to know if I'm having a martini even as we speak, at 6 a.m. Actually, I've found that I prefer dumb interviewers to a smart ones because any fact you communicate astonishes them. For these sorts of stations, I have adopted an alter ego—hard-drinking, back-slapping, loud-talking, and gregarious. In other words, Hyde to my Jekyll. It seems to work well enough. Sometimes, in the oddest places and at the oddest times, you run into interviewers who have read the book and have a real interest in the subject. I spent an hour on the air at 4 a.m. Denver time, probably talking to an audience of one, but it was actually a lot of fun.

The evening's restaurant is a treat. I pay a final visit to a funny little place that looked dead on arrival many months ago, when the Asian owners were trying to serve five different cuisines under the same roof. At some point they regrouped, hired a very talented chef, and the place now serves some intriguing Asian fusion cuisine. The restaurant is located in a strange no man's land above 14^th Street and below 34^th, one of those areas that has no name because no ever thinks about it. For some reason, the place has a French manager. I have the feeling I've seen him before, which means my cover is blown. The fluid labor market works against me. There's one waiter I regard as my personal stalker. Every time a new restaurant opens, there he is. I wonder if he gets hired simply by telling the management he knows me better than his own brother.

The ridiculous cat-and-mouse game in which I try to avoid detection and restaurant people try to spot me has taken on the quality of urban legend. One friend told me of a very strange encounter outside a restaurant where a shambling derelict was accosting patrons as they left and asking them if the food was any good. He had a wild look in his eye and a threatening manner. My friend said, "Why are you so interested in this restaurant? The man said, "Because I'm William Grimes, the restaurant critic of the Times."

I will neither confirm nor deny.

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Entry 4

Posted Thursday, Dec. 20, 2001, at 10:47 AM ET

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William Grimes is the restaurant critic of the New York Times. A new version of his book Straight Up or on the Rocks: The Story of the American Cocktail has just been published.

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