Sitting in a well-known Meatpacking District bistro, I settle into the banquette and absorb the atmosphere—then wince as I take a mouthful of bisque. Apparently someone dropped the entire salt container into the bowl. There’s no sign of a waiter—or a wine list—my water glass is empty and my knife is dirty. Here comes my entrée, way too early, and the server’s thumb is in my sauce. Instead of demanding to see the manager, I grit my teeth and start taking mental notes. This is a normal night for me—I’m an undercover restaurant adviser, and (luckily) I’m being paid to eat here.

This unusual job—in the industry we’re called “spotters”—found me three years ago, when I sat next to a restaurant owner at the launch of his new project. He asked my opinion and, taking a gamble, I told him the truth. As a writer, I’d been covering the food beat for major publications for several years. My palate was honed from eating out almost every day: lunch at Le Cirque, dinner at the Essex—you get the idea. Still, I was surprised when the owner called the next day and asked if I wanted a spotting job: I’d be paid to compile a report detailing my dining experience. Soon I was being sent to different cities to spy on competing restaurants: I once ate at 13 different Chicago bistros in four days.

Hundreds of restaurants hire regular “mystery diners” to answer simple questions such as “Was the bathroom clean?” and “Was your food prepared as requested?” They get paid $25 to $50 and their meals are reimbursed (see next page). But I provide a unique service. I’m not a food critic—critics concentrate solely on the meal—although I know my way around a menu. My job is to assess the experience from the time I make the reservation until the moment I’m bid good night (or not!). Usually, I’m hired directly by the owners, and let’s just say I’m an unwelcome visitor to the staff.

When a restaurant is run correctly, the food arrives promptly and is properly cooked, tables are turned in a timely fashion, and customers leave happy. But during a two-and-a-half-hour meal, a hundred things can go wrong: Everything from receiving stale bread that took too long to arrive (the typical wait is three to six minutes after seating) to finding shards of glass in your water. I’ve witnessed staffers stealing fries and onion rings off of a guest’s plate.

Many places keep pictures of food writers on hand so the staff knows when they visit. In my case, I’ve written books and my byline appears often, so there have been hairy moments when my cover has almost been blown. One day I was wearing a disguise, and when I was half a block from the restaurant postmeal, I pulled off my wig—just as the waiter ran up. It seems I’d taken the wrong credit card stub. He looked really confused. I calmly said, “I’m auditioning for a musical version of Single White Female,” and he asked who was casting and where he should send his headshot.

There are downsides. The reports, which can be anywhere from 12 to 18 pages each, get tedious. And it’s frustrating that I can only advise and suggest, I can’t implement or insist. Then there’s the weight issue. To sample as much as possible, I order three courses, so to maintain my 106 pounds, I have to walk at least 15 blocks to and from each restaurant. I’m also the person all my friends go to for dining suggestions—at all hours.

This may sound petty, but I would love to go out for a dinner that has nothing to do with work. And just once, it would be nice to not have to pick the restaurant.

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