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The correct number of Michelin stars is one. For two and three, judges tend to expect things of the service and decor that will be lost on almost all diners. What other glitches are there in the Guide? Europe is slightly over-represented versus the US, most of which was passed over with majestic hauteur until the recent past. Also, the classic knock against Michelin food — the stinginess of the servings — is almost the opposite of the real problem now, which is the deceptive richness of small bites. Most tasting menus should be a course or three shorter. (Trivet near London Bridge is that rare thing: double-starred and à la carte only.)
We might gripe, too, about the invasive red of that Michelin sign, which can blot a room as sleek and restrained as Aulis in Soho with what looks in passing to be the flag of Hong Kong. Still, in the end, there is no ducking the truth. Michelin is a great and improbable success. Expert-led in a populist age, Eurocentric in a woke one, it shouldn’t still be here, much less rival LVMH as a vector of French soft power. The annual award of stars and Bibs in Britain this week had chefs on edge. Diners notice. Uncovered territories beg for a Guide.
The lesson? Deference lives. The more information there is in the world, the more we need simple signals of elite status to cut through it all. The Ballon d’Or was a nice-to-have for footballers in the 1990s. It is now so sought-after that some mangle their careers in the quest to win it. (Poor Neymar.) Architects want a Pritzker, and writers a Booker, no less now that opinion has been “democratised”. These expert-judged prizes endure, not despite the proliferation of online tastemakers, but because of them. Without that cacophony, the public would have less need for symbols and shorthands to the effect of “Try this, it is good”. The influencers who detest Michelin keep it relevant.
In retrospect, the Covid-19 pandemic should have finished off the idea that we are living through irreverent times. Most people took at least one dose of the vaccine (including 95 per cent of Americans over 50) and supported the lockdown (which remains a sensationally popular policy, according to UK polls). The falcon heard the falconer well enough. This contradicted years of talk after the Brexit referendum and the election of Donald Trump about a loss of trust in authority. How to square the ornery politics with the public health compliance?
Well, there are degrees of separation between an election and daily experience. If inflation goes up or services deteriorate, you can believe that your vote wasn’t determinative. In cases where cause and effect are more obvious — as it is with a medical treatment, or £200 spent on a dinner — there is less of a hiding place. And so people defer to guidance. If I sound as though I think a lot of anti-expert sentiment boils down to talk, which wouldn’t be made good on in a crunch moment, you understand me well.
We are now far enough into the digital age to surmise that ideas such as “citizen journalism” and the “wisdom of crowds” turned out to overpromise. But the problem is more precise than that. Mass input is better at establishing fact than at offering judgment. (Although flawed at both.) Wikipedia, one of the great feats of the internet, is more reliable than most of us would have believed at its creation. Now, look up the highest-rated books on Goodreads. Or rather, don’t. The case for expert judgment was never that it is perfect, or even good, but that it outperforms the alternative — us — over a long enough period.
Even the dodgier verdicts of Michelin or the Pritzker jury or whatever will tend not to be outright terrible. A lot of the newly starred restaurants announced last week were surprising (Lita?) but you won’t have a bad night at any of them. Setting the floor is a public service, and not one that crowds can provide. Too harsh? The top-ranked book on Goodreads right now is something called Words of Radiance.
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