When our photographer stumbled upon this tip sheet about New York’s restaurant critic at the recently reopened Annisa, we felt obligated to pass it along to Platt. He had a few quibbles with the APB.
As my esteemed colleague, Sam Sifton, has lately discovered, anonymity is a vanishing quality in this era of Twitter feeds, parroting rabid blogheads, and general Internet cacophony. We discovered it, too, today. For the record, Platty is six foot six (not six foot four). Like Mr. Sifton he is, sadly, more or less “fully bald.” It’s true that my eyes are blue (since when do waiters go around checking the color of people’s eyes?!), although if you told my brother I resembled him in any way, he might hit you with a baseball bat. I don’t take notes under the table much anymore; I peck them on my iPhone. I’ve never heard of Tony Kahn or Clifford Combs. And I don’t know what they mean by “distinctive voice,” although I’m sometimes told that, in moments of high emotion, I sound (and, in my restaurant critic’s disguise, look) uncannily like Victor Buono, doing his Batman turn as King Tut.