Former New York Times dining critic Ruth Reichl often donned wigs and elaborate outfits to disguise herself when visiting Big Apple restaurants.
But Reichl's costumes were nothing compared to what The News Journal's critic-at-large Otto Dekom once did to stay incognito.
The retired writer, who died in 2004 in a Florida hospital at age 86, went in drag to dine at a Wilmington restaurant he was banned from. His model was a friend's mother.
Dekom was "often described as the man Delawareans loved to hate," according to News Journal files.
At the time of Dekom's death, former News Journal columnist Al Mascitti, who picked up the dining-critic fork after Dekom retired in 1983, said: "Everyone knew who he was. Otto Dekom made himself a household name."
Current critic Eric Ruth assumed the role in 1997.
Notoriously stingy with superlatives in his theater, music, art and restaurant reviews, Dekom had several persnickety pet peeves. Woe to the restaurateur who hired chatty, gum-snapping waitresses and served baked potatoes wrapped in aluminum foil or lukewarm soup. His pointed comments could slice deeper than a chef's knife. Few forgot - or forgave - his sharp and often barbed observations.
The late Wilmington restaurateur George Manis was so incensed after a stinging review, he banned the critic from his restaurants. That didn't deter Dekom. When he came to dine at Manis' latest eatery, the former Le Grand Tier on Market Street, Dekom dressed as a woman and ate there unnoticed.
"I remember the waiter came back to the kitchen and said, 'For an old lady, she eats like a horse,' " George's wife, Voula Manis, told The News Journal in 1994.
Dekom's disguise is particularly interesting in light of a pending lawsuit that involves Philadelphia Inquirer restaurant critic Craig LaBan that could reveal his identity. Ruth Reichl, queen of disguises, weighs in on her opinion in a recent NPR interview.
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I was with Otto the night he had dinner at the Grand Tier dressed in a green pants suit and sandals that belonged to my mother. To disguise his height, he bent over on a cane to portray my "great aunt", wearing s gray wig he found in a thrift store. It was rather unnerving for me. Often with him, I was concerned someone would recognize me and therefore him. A gentlemen at a nearby table wanted to buy us a drink and the waiter kept flirting with me. As I left going down the front stairs of the restaurant -- Otto left down the main staircase in the Grand Opera House -- the owner of a gallery where we had been earlier that evening -- saw me leaving. That blew Otto's cover and became the talk of the town.
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