Tall, groomed and fashionably presented in a dark suit and fine leather shoes, 40-year-old Pascal Remy enters the hushed hotel bar looking more like a conformist than a renegade. Factor in his courteous manner and genial spirit and it seems even harder to believe this dapper Frenchman could single-handedly threaten to bring down one of his country's most glorious icons. For more than 100 years the legendary Michelin Red Guide, the food-lovers' weighty companion, whose fearsome ratings can make or break the fortunes of chefs and restaurants, had wielded its awesome power beneath a shroud of secrecy. No one knew how the guide awarded its famous stars; no one knew whom the inspectors were or how they operated. That is until one of them spilled the exotic beans.
After 16 years as one of Michelin's undercover inspectors, Remy did what no other employee had ever dared: he lifted the lid on the notoriously classified practices of gastronomy's most esteemed and covert institution. In a juicy, tell-all book recently published in France he discloses a succession of poisonous anecdotes taken from diaries he kept during his time with the organisation that accuse it of favouritism, frugality and falsity. Remy alleges the guide is motivated by commercial forces rather than customer service; that many of its three-star restaurants undeservedly retain that honour because they are considered 'untouchable'; and that ratings are influenced by aggressive letter-writing campaigns and powerful, media-savvy chefs.
In L'Inspecteur se met a table, a clever pun meaning 'the inspector sits down at the table', but that also means 'the inspector speaks up', he shatters the widely held belief that Michelin has a formidable army of anonymous inspectors regularly trooping through each restaurant. Reading from a crumpled, hand-scrawled note pulled from his black leather briefcase, Remy says that, contrary to Michelin's figures, there are only five inspectors for France (responsible for 4,000 restaurants) and 39 in total for Europe. It is a myth, he claims, that every establishment is reviewed every year. 'When I joined in 1988 there were 11 inspectors,' he says in a low voice, as if to stop others hearing what he has already so boldly publicised. 'I guess that was normal because we were supposed to be about 12. But little by little some retired, others left to do other things, and in 2003 we found ourselves with only five. 'Of course, now they have reacted and hired another three, I believe,' he adds, chuckling. 'But it's still not a lot.'
The assault on the big red book with its global cult following has left the culinary world bubbling and Michelin boiling. Until Remy began panning it, the highly influential guide, with its trained, 'incorruptible' inspectors, enjoyed the kind of exalted reputation no competitor has ever matched. Yet Remy insists he did not set out to stir up controversy. He says he initially approached Michelin to publish his memoirs as a humorous and light-hearted look at the life of a restaurant reviewer. After reading his manuscript, company executives, unsurprisingly, found it hard to swallow. They rejected Remy's proposal and instead offered him a promotion and a 30 per cent pay rise if he agreed not to publish what Michelin described, in a confidential memo provided by Remy, as 'facts making an attack on the Red Guide and Michelin ... manufacturing secrets as well as attacks on the personality of Michelin's staff members and hoteliers and restaurateurs'. Remy refused to sign and was fired a month later for 'grave cause'.
Michelin says he violated the company's confidentiality agreement and asked for too much money (300,000 euros, or HK$2.8 million) as compensation for not publishing the book. Remy counters that the only secrets he was contractually prohibited from revealing were related to the manufacture of rubber and tyres, Michelin's bread and butter. And he says the contents of his book should not be considered secrets. 'I only wrote about my life as an inspector and about my work!' he exclaims. 'But Michelin considers these things one should not talk about. Everything is secret to them, even the most banal things.'
Ironically, six months before he was fired, Remy was feted as a model employee; Michelin even rewarded his good work with a 5,000-euro bonus. Now Remy is suing his former employer for wrongful dismissal. 'How can they sack someone for wanting to publish his memoirs?' he asks. Yet in a country where food is a religion and the Red Guide its bible, Remy's irreverent anecdotes border on the sacrilegious. And according to Michelin, they are all the more blasphemous because they are simply untrue.
