British restaurant critic Giles Coren has a reputation for being a touch vitriolic in his reviews. And it's been well earned: looking back at over 15 years of reviewing in the London Evening Standard, he writes,
I wasn't happy unless jobs were lost, reputations were ruined and 'closed' notices were up in the window by the end of the week. I remember reading an interview in the Financial Times with the owner of a restaurant I'd just panned, in which he declared that 'Giles Coren's review cost me £150,000,' and thinking, 'Is that all?'
Coren reflects on his "greatest hour," taking credit for "closing down an entire chain of Indian restaurants" by writing things like "Six or seven bowls of brown cloacal waste, studded with amorphous protein chunks" in a review.
Now, Coren is trying to convince everyone that he's gone soft, what with a baby and a wife and years of therapy and reviewing restaurants he actually thinks are good. Don't know about that, Giles, you did just call René Redzepi's Noma a "grim Scandy cold food fuck dungeon" a few weeks ago. It's probably safe to say you can still get nasty when you need to.