William Sitwell: MasterChef UK star and restaurant critic meets Eat Lit Food’s Albert Cho

Albert Cho. Photo/ by Babiche Martens

A word of advice from the acclaimed British food critic when it comes to writing introductions: “Get the bull by the horns.” That is exactly what I am about to do. For those who are unfamiliar with William Sitwell, he is as chic as you can get — an absolute Etonian toff. Upon starting our Zoom call, he adjusts his glasses to sit perfectly on the bridge of his nose while there’s a library of books behind him which is certainly not a green screen and makes him look like he knows just about everything. He sounds like Colin Firth and it comes as no surprise that he’s related to Sirs and Dames. Yes, those Sitwells - he is the great-nephew of writer Sir Osbert Sitwell, and of poet and critic Dame Edith Sitwell.

Edith Sitwell and her brother Osbert, taking refreshments. Photo / Getty Images

More importantly, he is a food critic - as in, an actual food critic. Having been in the game for more than two decades, his resumé reeks of credibility: former editor of Waitrose Food, various television appearances on renowned cooking shows like MasterChef UK, reviewing restaurants for The Daily Telegraph. Sitwell’s writing is succinct, witty and occasionally gets lost in translation, which can get him into trouble. I can relate to the latter.

William Sitwell. Photo / Getty Images

As I am a new-age, self-proclaimed food writer, I jumped at the opportunity to talk to Sitwell. I was given 40 minutes to delve into his book The Restaurant: A History of Eating Out, which he will be promoting in New Zealand in May as part of the Auckland Writers Festival. But first, I was itching to know, what does he think about people like me? Unlike Sitwell, my resumé consists of Instagram and TikTok followers who cannot be neglected in this day and age of social media, whether you like it or not.

Albert Cho. Photo / Babiche Martens

Assuming Sitwell has no idea who I am, which he definitely does not, I approach the question broadly, asking him how the food writing industry has changed over the years. In his posh British accent, he tells me, “I suppose it’s more crowded and noisier now. We have a lot more competition from the digital creators, or whatever they’re called these days.” Sitwell dubs himself and fellow established newspaper critics as “dinosaurs” who are now having to rise above the “plethora of noise” but this noise is not seen negatively by him. At the end of the day, whether it’s digital or print, it’s enhancing people’s interest in food and restaurants but he does call out the people who are just in it for the freebies, as he should.

We quickly move on from the topic of social media because he truly doesn’t care about what other people are doing. Sitwell is a writer and that is what he’s focused on. “My job is to describe my experience as a single-minded track so I don’t care what anyone else is writing or photographing.” He goes as far as abstaining from reading other critic’s reviews on a restaurant in order to keep his as authentic to himself as possible. That’s not to say he doesn’t appreciate other people’s opinions as he shares the immense gratification he feels when he finds himself agreeing with other critics. In true Sitwell style, he also cheekily adds, “If there are critics I despise, I like the fact that we disagree.”

This makes me curious about the process of writing a review for Sitwell, someone who is considered an original, legitimate food critic. He takes me to the beginning, from making reservations, which he says is when “the torture begins”. He has a distaste for online reservation systems, telling me, “If you can get a restaurant’s phone number, they’ll give you a table at 7pm. But online it says there’s only one at 6.45pm, 8pm or 5.30pm.” I wholeheartedly agree. He books under a pseudonym with no assistance from PR teams. “I go in there, if they recognise me, great, if not, great … and we lunch.” He enjoys a couple of glasses of wine with his friend and they eat. Dessert only happens if there’s enough room in his stomach for appreciation. No notepad and no pen. He reiterates that ambience is a feeling rather than literature and emphasises how it’s never strictly about the food.

In order to remember and prevent forgetting what he has eaten, he photographs the menu, the dishes he ordered and the bill to jog his memory for when he finally writes the review, which can vary between the day after his visit and two months later. He laughs and says, “If my iCloud was wiped, I’m screwed.” So am I. With a 600-word limit, he keeps intros short and leaves as much room to write down his experience.

Despite his notoriety for brutal and negative reviews, he says, “Any controversy I’ve been involved in has never been deliberate.” He recalls his write-up on Holm, located in the village of South Petherton, in Somerset. “The restaurant I went to was in an old bank and they still had a cashpoint but they were getting rid of the cashpoint. And my point was that the likes of fat-fingered farmers who can’t bank on their phones because their fingers are too fat, need cashpoints. So, I was defending these people.” It managed to offend an entire village and Sitwell was labelled a “pompous prat”.

Honestly though, what’s wrong with being a pompous prat? He’s sincere and genuine when he tells me, “I was just trying to be funny and describe the situation.” He goes on to say: “If you went out of your way to try and get press attention by writing obnoxious things, I don’t think you’d get very far.” And he’s right. I say that I believe, as humans, we can only take so much negativity until it becomes annoying and he responds: “Essentially, when I meet people they want recommendations. They ask for my top 5 in London and not, ‘Where’s a s***ty place I shouldn’t go to?’”

Sitwell simply loves dining out and always has. This led him to write The Restaurant: A History of Eating Out, in which he goes into the history of dining. As a critic who is fascinated by hospitality, he delved as deep as he could, finding out what hospitality was like thousands of years ago. Knowing how stupid this question will sound, I ask him what hospitality was like even 20 years ago? With no hint of judgment, he says, “Well, quite similar to what it was 1000 years ago. When you pad your way through Pompeii and you uncover menus, restaurants, bars — you know hospitality was a cornerstone of Roman society. You sort of go, ‘My God, life hasn’t changed.’”

Being the astute man he is, he can sense that this doesn’t resonate with me as I’ve never been to Europe, so he tries again. “We always think we live in a golden age. I don’t know if we do now, I think there’s almost too much complication out there.” He shares his current favourite restaurant with me, Bouchon Racine, and praises its classic Lyonnaise French menu as he lists off dishes like rabbit and mustard sauce and petit pot au chocolat. “Technical but not poncey cappuccinos, smears and tasting menus. I see a tasting menu and I can almost feel the acid coming out of my stomach, just gurgling up,” he says.

This time, rather than looking back, I ask him to look forward and if he has anything to say about the impending gloom and doom of hospitality, post-pandemic and approaching recession. He’s optimistic and holds the utmost respect for the industry. He views a robust industry as one that’s filled with “holistic individuals”.

Sitwell says, “You have to be a good manager, you have to understand design and decor, you’ve got to understand atmosphere and you need to be able to cook … as well as understanding business and economics.”

He claims that the multifaceted quality makes hospitality one of the most exciting career paths, which leads on to some individuals facing “restaurateuritis” — an addiction to opening restaurants.

“You can’t stop human beings opening restaurants,” he says, adding that he’s “very enthusiastic for the future of the business”.

Unfortunately, I cannot display this same enthusiasm for Sitwell’s first visit to New Zealand. Listening to him basically salivate over the Bouchon Racine made me realise that he’ll have more luck finding a pork belly bao than a duck confit, particularly in Auckland and it makes me nervous, yet excited, to hear his thoughts on our local dining scene. Upon me voicing my concerns, he shakes his head: “Tragic. I don’t want to diss your nation before I’ve even turned up there.” Since I know what Aucklanders are like, let me come into Sitwell’s defence and clarify that personal preference in food does not make you racist.

This May marks Sitwell’s first visit ever to New Zealand. All he knows is that we have a lot of sheep and that he has an itinerary but aside from that, he’s “coming in blind”. Although he has made it very clear that he doesn’t care about the headlines and what people have to say about him, I do. A few weeks ago, Sitwell wrote an article regarding Hugh Grant’s apparently rude interview at the Oscars, titled “Hugh Grant was not being rude – America just did not get the joke”. I have hope that New Zealanders will embrace Sitwell’s quick-witted charm, but if by chance they don’t, here’s my two cents: William Sitwell, if you get him, you get him, if you don’t, you don’t.

Auckland Writers Festival, May 16-24