Clavin Trillin, in his wonderful 1970 book of essays on eating, American Fried, writes about the fears of serious eaters in New York when their favorite restaurant gets reviewed by the food critic of the New York Times:
Although young couples in films set in New York have always seemed very fond of fatherly old Enrico, the man who runs the little red-and-white-checkered-tablecloth Italian restaurant they frequent, there is a limit to the kind of success real New Yorkers would wish for old Enrico. What they dread more than rubbery fettucini is a write-up in the Times. They believe, of course, that keeping information about Enrico's place on what the Army calls a strict need-to-know basis is all for Enrico's own good. Even since Craig Claiborne established the restaurant column in the Times as the first item of morning business for a confirmed restaurant-trotter, an out-of-the-way place praised by the Times can be instantly Claibornized - swollen and perhaps even burst by a sudden infusion of temporary loyalists. If Enrico reacts to a favorable notice in the Times by trying to run the kind of place he operated before, he is likely to find the regulars driven away forever as a horde of fickle review-followers manage to turn the chef into a short-order cook before they move on to the West Side Spanish seafood house that has just had its mariscos extolled at length. If Enrico proves adaptable enough to exploit the publicity, he will redecorate and raise the prices and eventually open a fancy place in midtown, where is encounters with the waiters' union and the real-estate sharks will drive him into the life insurance business. Who would wish such alternatives on a pal?
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