 |  | WEB EXCLUSIVE |
| | This is about the most revealing photograph of Craig LaBan the public has ever seen. Photo by David Snyder, Philafoodie. | Craig LaBan Unmasked?
The Inquirer food critic is facing the greatest assault yet to his anonymity.  by Steve Volk

Craig LaBan is caught in a high-stakes dispute over … steaks. And the
Philadelphia Inquirer restaurant critic stands to lose something
even more important than a pending lawsuit. He could lose his anonymity.
A recent ruling in the libel case 401 Restaurant Associates v. LaBan
determined that the longtime food reviewer would be forced to give a videotaped
deposition.
Worse, the video would be admissible at trial.
The suit arose from a three-sentence review LaBan wrote dissing the “strip steak” at
the Bala Cynwyd restaurant Chops.
The suit alleges that what LaBan ate wasn’t strip steak, and that the reviewer
should’ve known that. But what’s really important here is whether the courtroom
witnesses will get to see LaBan’s face or hear his voice.
Like many restaurant critics, LaBan guards his identity closely. Attorneys for
Philadelphia Media Holdings (PMH), which owns the Inquirer, argued in
court that his appearance and working methods constitute trade secrets, and therefore
LaBan shouldn’t be forced to submit to videotaping or photography.
According to Judge William Manfredi’s written ruling, they lost. The upshot? LaBan was
forced to provide videotaped testimony as himself—without wigs, masks or fake voices.
“He gave his deposition on June 5,” says Dion Rassias, an attorney with the firm
representing Chops owner Alex Plotkin. “And we would expect to use the video when the
case comes to trial.”
Both LaBan and Maura Fay, the attorney representing the critic and co-defendant PMH,
declined to comment.
But the importance of guarding his identity is evident throughout the brief filed on
his behalf.
“Craig LaBan’s photographic or video image, as well as the methods he uses while
reviewing restaurants, meet the definition of trade secrets … Keeping this information
secret assists Mr. LaBan in performing his job and thus has economic value to him. His
anonymity allows him to better assess what the average customer will be served because
the restaurant does not know the meal is being reviewed by the
Inquirer.”
From that perspective, the public will be better off if LaBan’s identity remains as
secret as possible. It’s an identity he’s gone to great lengths over the years to
protect.
Rassias is unaware if LaBan has attended any court proceedings prior to giving his
deposition. “I didn’t see anyone dressed as Batman, Spider-Man or the Green Lantern,” he
says.
The superhero reference stems from LaBan’s identity—or lack thereof—around town. Known
largely for being unknown, LaBan wears elaborate disguises during public appearances.
Given the history of food criticism, the costumes do make great theater, but they aren’t
just for show. The Association of Food Journalists lists 13 guidelines for food critics,
and the second one, after ethics, is anonymity.
“Reviews should be conducted anonymously whenever possible,” it reads. “Critics should
experience the restaurant just as ordinary patrons do. Reservations should be made in a
name other than that of the reviewer and meals should be paid for using cash or credit
cards in a name other than the critic.”
The list of suggested practices also includes calling for reservations from telephones
outside work, so that caller ID doesn’t give away the reviewer’s identity. It also
recommends that reviewers who are recognized during the course of the meal make note of
that in their published review, especially if they notice they’re receiving better
treatment than those at other tables.
For his part, Rassias isn’t pleased with all the attention being paid to LaBan’s
identity. “From my perspective and my client’s, this case isn’t about Craig LaBan’s
anonymity,” he says. “That’s his gimmick to sell papers. Our interest is in what he did
wrong and in encouraging him not to do it again.”
But ultimately testimony on cuts of beef may just be a sidelight. The current suit
against LaBan has already received media coverage from no less than The
New York Times, whose Adam Liptak surveyed the landscape of previous
libel suits against food critics, and found it figuratively littered with the corpses of
restaurant owners who lost at trial.
“American judges have apparently never punished even tough, mean and wrongheaded
restaurant reviews,” wrote Liptak in the March 7 Times. “As the Federal
Appeals Court in Manhattan put it in 1985, ‘reviews, although they may be unkind, are
not normally a breeding ground for successful libel actions.’”
What makes the LaBan case different is that the substance of the suit revolves around
a factual dispute—Did he eat a strip steak? Or have reason to believe he was eating a
strip steak?—so the usual defense protecting the reviewer’s opinion will no doubt be
attacked by plaintiff’s attorneys. The other issue is that his identity may prove to be
the matter of greatest public interest.
The issue of anonymity probably hasn’t come up in court all that often. “It’s not an
issue we’ve ever confronted,” says Charles Babcock, a Dallas-based attorney who’s
represented reviewers in multiple libel suits.
In one case, he says, the suit “melted away” in a settlement before depositions were
ever taken. “It’s tricky,” he says, “because you’re really at cross purposes as a
newspaper if you’re trying to keep some aspect of a public trial secret. We’re usually
in there fighting to keep trials as open as possible.”
LaBan, the Inquirer’s food critic for
about 10 years, probably hasn’t managed to maintain his anonymity perfectly. “Do most
people know him on sight?” says Carrie Nork, public relations director for Nicole
Cashman and Associates. The high-powered Philadelphia PR firm counts numerous
restaurants, including the Stephen Starr empire and Le Bec-Fin, among its clients. “No.
In my experience as an expert in this field, I don’t think they recognize him. But there
are people who do—not just in the Starr organization but across the board, in other
restaurants.”
A current employee with the Starr restaurant group in Philadelphia who didn’t want
their name published, gives an account of just how much attention is paid to LaBan:
“There is a particular protocol, which is printed and runs several pages, that every
server has. It informs you of [what to do] when he’s in the building, which includes
telling a manager.”
It’s expected, says the Starr employee, that eventually every server, host and manager
will know who LaBan is. To help make that happen, if word leaks that LaBan is in one of
Starr’s restaurants, employees from other spots around town who’ve never seen him will
be taken over to surreptitiously lay eyes on the man himself.
The Starr employee also says a picture of LaBan is included in the written protocol.
Ah, the photo. There has long been talk that numerous restaurants in town have posted in
their kitchens a more than 10-year-old picture of LaBan dressed in a tuxedo for a
wedding.
“I’ve heard that too,” says David Snyder, a securities attorney by day and author of
the well-read blog PhilaFoodie by night. “But if you looked at a photo of me from 10
years ago, you wouldn’t be able to recognize me. To me, as a lawyer, this looks like a
tactic—it was a tactic for them to take his videotaped deposition. If you know the guy
on other end of the lawsuit needs to protect his identity, this is a great way to put
your thumb in the wound to try and leverage some kind of settlement, and that’s
troubling.”
If anything, that restaurants take such pains to identify LaBan, and the best they can
come up with is a 10-year-old photograph, may prove just how valuable a commodity his
anonymity really is. It also suggests that if a current video of LaBan talking and
answering questions were aired in a public courthouse—as one could be in the near
future—restaurateurs figure to pack the seats.
The wars between restaurant owners and the critics who
can make or break them are the stuff of legend. And the gamesmanship involved in
protecting the anonymity of the critic from restaurateurs is just part of the tradition.
“Anonymity is very important,” says Lauren Chapin, a restaurant critic with the
Kansas City Star and a member of the Association of Food
Journalists. “Every year part of my evaluation is to talk about how well I was able to
maintain my anonymity over the course of the year. Fortunately I’m able to conduct my
reviews without getting busted 80 or 90 percent of the time. But how much of this is a
cat-and-mouse game among reviewers and restaurant owners?”
Chapin recounts the exploits of Ruth Reichl, the former New York
Times food critic who famously wore wigs and fat pads to restaurants to hide
her real identity. “Did a lot of people know who she was anyway?” she asks. “Probably.
So it’s important, but some of this is theater. Some of this is show.”
Chapin says she’d be concerned if she were in LaBan’s position, but even if he’s
exposed, it shouldn’t keep him from doing his job.
“No. 1, how many people are really going to see it? At the end of the day, whether
you’re recognized or not, you’re still going to turn your critic’s eye on and say, ‘Yes,
they knew I was there, but they still didn’t cook steak right or the sauce was salty.’
If they send you three scallops instead of two, you’re going to know.”
Steve Volk (svolk@philadelphiaweekly.com) wrote last week’s cover story about Thai
boxing.
|