Garlic and Sapphires

Table of Contents

 

 

Praise for Ruth Reichl's
Garlic and Sapphires

“[A] vivacious, fascinating memoir. . . . Reichl's ability to experience meals in such a dramatic way brings an infectious passion to her memoir . . . reading this work ensures that the next time readers sit down in a restaurant, they'll notice things they've never noticed before.”

—
Publishers Weekly
(starred review)

 

“Sure, she can write; sure, sure she knows about food. But what finally distinguishes her response is the passion she brings to the table . . . beguiling.”

—
Newsweek

 

“As much as I've enjoyed her work over the past twelve years, it's her new book,
Garlic and Sapphires: The Secret Life of a Critic in Disguise
, that I've really been waiting for. Here, at last, is the behind-the-scenes story of Reichl's years at the
Times
. . . . We get all the mouth-watering food writing that Reichl is famous for, as well as well as a fascinating peek at what it's like to be the most powerful restaurant critic in the country, but we also get Reichl's take on the theater and politics of eating out.”

—
Newsday

 

“For foodies with a penchant for the inside scoop, Reichl's behind-the-scenes stories of the Gray Lady deliver the goods. . . . Spicy and sweet by turns, with crackle and bite throughout.”

—
Kirkus Reviews

 

“Reichl is so gifted that she can make any topic interesting . . . the reader remains hungry for more of Reichl.”—
USA Today

 

“Costume mixed with cuisine—a delicious read any way you slice it.”

—
Gotham

 

“Ruth Reichl is simultaneously a world-class foodie and an unfailingly approachable writer.”—
The Cleveland Plain Dealer

 

 

“Wise and thoroughly satisfying; highly recommended.”

—
Library Journal
(starred review)

“Reichl is a skilled, witty storyteller.”—
San Francisco Chronicle

 

“
Garlic and Sapphires
is a fast-paced, witty memoir that explores the meaning of reviewing, the stuffy culture at the
Times
and Reichl's ongoing love affair with food.”—
The Star-Ledger
(Newark)

 

“If you're intrigued by the idea of catching a glimpse inside the competitive cubicles of one of the most famous, revered newsrooms on the planet—and at the lengths food writers will go not to tip their hands—you won't be disappointed. . . . Reichl's memoir is an engaging, entertaining tour through the cutthroat worlds of both the newsroom and the kitchen. [She] has a wonderful knack for making publicly accessible the essentially personal pleasure of eating fabulous food.”—
Ruminator

 

“The sensuous, feisty, sharp, wild-haired Reichl has written another evocative memoir. . . . Reichl's writing is so fantastic anything seems possible when she and food are involved.”—
The Buffalo News

 

“An engaging and witty read.”—
New Haven Advocate

 

“Reichl has done it again. In fact, she might have outdone herself.”

—
The Cleveland Plain Dealer

PENGUIN BOOKS

GARLIC AND SAPPHIRES

Ruth Reichl is the editor in chief of
Gourmet
and the author of the bestsellers
Tender at the Bone
and
Comfort Me with Apples
. She has been the restaurant critic at
The New York Times
and the food editor and restaurant critic at the
Los Angeles Times
. Reichl lives in New York City with her husband and son.

PENGUIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
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Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices:
80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

 

First published in the United States of America by The Penguin Press,
a member of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. 2005
Published in Penguin Books 2006

Copyright © Ruth Reichl, 2005

All rights reserved

 

The following columns originally appeared in
The New York Times
and they are reprinted here with permissions: Le Cirque review, October 29, 1993; Honmura An, September 10, 1993; Lespinasse, March 11, 1994; Daniel, November 11, 1994; Kurumazushi, October 6, 1995; Tavern on the Green, December 8, 1995; Windows on the World, November 8, 1996; Box Tree, March 11, 1998; Sparks, March 25, 1998; Union Pacific, August 5, 1998; “Why I Disapprove of What I Do” (
The New York Times Magazine
), March 10, 1996. The New York Times owns the copyright in the columns. Inquiries concerning permission to reprint any column or portion of it should be directed to The New York Times Company, Rights and Permissions, Ninth Floor, 229 West 43rd Street, New York, New York 10036.

 

eISBN : 978-1-101-16334-4

(pbk.)
1. Cookery. 2. Reichl, Ruth—Biography. I. Title
TX649.R45A3 2005
641.5'092—dc22
[B] 2004051362

 

 

Also by Ruth Reichl

The Daily Special

Y
ou gonna eat that?”

The woman is eyeing the tray the flight attendant has just set before me. I can't tell if she wants reassurance that I find it as repellent as she does or if she is simply hungry and hopeful that I will hand my food over. I loosen my seatbelt, swivel in the narrow seat, and see that her face holds a challenge. Is she
daring
me to eat the food?

It steams unappetizingly up at me: a squishy brown square of meat surrounded by a sticky stockade of potatoes that might have been mashed last year. The wrinkled gray peas look as if they were born in a laboratory test tube. The roll glows with such an unearthly lunar yellow that I can feel its chill before my fingers even touch the surface. The lettuce in the salad has gone brown at the edges, and the tomatoes are too tired to even pretend that nature intended them to be red. The dressing in its little cup stares up at me, bright orange. I stare back.

“Nah,” says the woman, “you won't eat that. Not our little Ruthie!” Triumphantly she snatches the neon roll from my plate. “I'd like your butter too, please,” she says, reaching for it.

I stop her hand in midair. “Do I know you?” I ask. She grins enigmatically, and I realize that she has a slight gap between her teeth. Her hair is blond and she is blowsily attractive; for a moment I wonder if she's Lauren Hutton. But what would Lauren Hutton be doing here, wedged into steerage, stealing my roll?

“No,” she says, retrieving her hand. She snags the butter. “But I know you. I even know why you're on this plane.”

“You do?” I say, rather stupidly. She has wolfed down the roll and now has her eye on the dubious meat. “Please,” I say, “help yourself.” She grabs the plate.

“I didn't think that
you
would be eating this stuff,” she says. “Truth be told, I'd be disappointed if you did.”

“But who do you think I am?” I ask.

“Oh, sweetie,” she says, the
s
hissing snake like from the gap in her teeth, “I don't think. I know. In fact, if you would be kind enough to tell me where you're going to eat when we land in New York, you'd be doing me a big favor.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” I am truly baffled now. She has gobbled up the protein, avoided the peas, and her pale blue eyes are staring longingly at the sad salad. “Be my guest,” I say, holding out the plate.

“Your picture is all over New York,” she says, her mouth full of lettuce. “You're the restaurant critic of the
Los Angeles Times,
but you're about to become the most important restaurant critic in the world. You start at the
New York Times
on”—she pauses for a moment, calculating—“Friday, September third!” She forks up the last of the salad and adds, “Every restaurant in town has your picture pinned to the bulletin board, next to the specials of the day.”