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Mimi Sheraton, 53, the New York Times's remorseless food critic, and Frank Prial, 48, who writes about wine for the paper, deduced that Otto's place would most likely be fairly near McPhee's home in Princeton, N.J. They sicced a stringer onto the story, says Prial. "He called politicians in the area, figuring they like to eat, too." Indeed. The gastronomic gumshoe tracked down a Pike County Republican bigwig who confirmed the team's suspicion that the bistro described in The New Yorker was the Red Fox Inn, in Milford, Pa. However, the legendary Otto had sold that hideaway last May and hoisted his toque over an old saloon in Shohola, Pa., that he rechristened The Bullhead. The inn is 90.5 miles from midtown Manhattan. The politician, it turned out, was president of the bank where the couple got their mortgage for the new place. The Times's Holmes and Watson dined there that night. Their reservation was in the name of McCarthy.
Alas, poor Otto! His convert was blown. Sheraton and Prial identified the reclusive Paul Bocuse of the Poconos as one "Allen Lieb." (Actually, he spells it Alan.) As for the dishes he served these wisepersons from the city, Sheraton's comments ranged from "passable" to "truly awful," with a small grating of praise for a delicate fish pâté and a cake or two. Her summation: "Allen Lieb, sincere and well intentioned though he may be, has a long way to go both in developing his own palate for seasoning and combining ingredients, and mastering basic cooking techniques." Oof!
As for Lieb's published remark about Lutèce's frozen turbot, that accusation stirred temblors in Manhattan stockpots. Lutece's Chef Andre Soltner indignantly produced fish market receipts to show one and all that his turbot was fresh. Lieb apologized, and the usually meticulous New Yorker, accused of publishing a canard, explained that to preserve Otto's anonymity, it had taken the exceptional step of allowing the author of the piece to do most of the checking on his own.
Sometimes one cannot see the forestière for the trees. To be sure, the Liebs' Bullhead is not Alain Chapel's plaisanterie in Mionnay or Lasserre in Paris. Nonetheless, Alan-Otto, trained in European restaurants, and his Anna Rozmarja, who is known as Ronnie—they are both 40 years old—run a warm and welcoming restaurant that draws regular patrons from great distances. Alan's reach may exceed his grasp, and Ronnie does not always make a perfect gâteau. But they are delighted by the Sheraton pan, hoping it will defuse their new fame. Says Ronnie, "We just don't have the energy or capacity to deal with crowds."
New Yorker Editor William Shawn, 71—who eats faithfully at the Algonquin —maintains: "I look at McPhee's profile as a beautifully written literary piece, constructed on facts but still a literary piece." He has "no regrets." Nor does John McPhee. "The only reaction I might have," he says, "would be to the shocks we caused, and wonder over the results."∙