So you want to be Singapore's next famous food critic?

A chef in the United Kingdom once threw his fist at a co-worker when famous food critic A.A. Gill of "The Sunday Times" labeled the restaurant’s food “disgusting.”

Such is the power wielded by food critics who brandish their pens like double-edged swords.

You’d think all food critics would be treated equally, but we’re not. I’m no A.A. Gill. I merely vie with “the rest” of the food writers and bloggers for a slice of the delicious eat-and-flaunt pie.

I admit, I have allowed myself to be wined and dined freely -- quite literally.

Truth be told, there is no such thing as a free lunch when you're reviewing food. After gratis meals, you’re expected to work your pen and your creative juices or risk being dumped into the “free riders” little black-balled book.

Incognito reviews are not always the best deal

When I put on my food critic-critic’s hat, I appear in restaurants uninvited for incognito reviews.

This is a restaurant’s greatest dread.

What’s mine? The budget. I often exceed the low, triple-digit reimbursement amounts provided by my employers. The difference goes on my personal tab.

Unlike some of my more famous counterparts, I’ve never had to don a cloak of disguise, a fake mole above my luscious lips or hide under an insipid wig to tame those curls. I just go as I am: unrecognized.

Verdict? By entering a restaurant on a whim, I experience the real deal and receive the same formulaic fare as every other diner -- and often receive the same surly service as the next table.

The red carpet treatment isn't for everyone 

There are perils to being an unknown food critic. Years back when I started out in the trade, I was mistaken as a spy and booted out of a Korean restaurant for indiscriminately copying prices from the menu.

I could have saved myself the embarrassment, I learnt, had I gone with technology and used my handphone in exchange for my Montblanc pen and Moleskin pad.

There is a caste system for food writers.

I’ve witnessed, in contrast, how the unannounced arrival of a famous critic sends waves of panic from the front of the house to the back of the kitchen.

It’s times like this that I truly envy these public figures, not least because their plates will always be souped-up with extra black truffle shavings and glistening pearls of osetra caviar, but because the service they receive will always be glazed with honey.

There is a caste system

There have been times when I’ve been hosted, and subsequently treated, like I am an undeserving stepchild.

Call me ungrateful, but there are some public relations individuals who hold different values and standards -- as if it is their job to enforce a caste system for us food writers.

Without fail, the famous and the visiting journalists always get better treatment. They get to grace restaurants with a companion of choice; while the lesser-known ones, like myself, are expected to dine alone or with a public relations flack whose presence we do not enjoy.

Once, I sheepishly asked to bring a dining companion, and even offered to pick up his tab. The public relations individual pounced on me like a overweight child on a burger and launched a complaint suggesting I begged for food.

I had my revenge when I visited the same restaurant as a guest of a more famous food writer.

You have to take the rough with the smooth

I may not be famous, but I do write for some of the world’s bests publications, and for that I’ve been to restaurants that many can only dream of.

Annually, I jet off on gourmet pilgrimages where as a globetrotting food writer I’m treated with utmost respect.

L’Atelier de Joel Robuchon, Caprice, Mr & Mrs Bund, M on the Bund, you name it, I’ve covered them all. In Singapore, I’ve ticked most celebrity chef restaurant boxes: Waku Ghin and Joel Robuchon Restaurant, to name two.

Call me a loser, but I will press on.

My vocabulary has expanded -- credit to my best friend Mr. Thesuarus -- lip-smacking, rib-sticking, divine and sublime; these are just different ways of expressing delish. My heart swells with pride at my expanded culinary vocabulary. "Pedestrian" and "lackluster" certainly sound better, than "not tasty," "yucky" or just "very bad."

For my troubles, I’ve traded a four-figure monthly salary for a pleasurable dog’s life; one that is heavier on payment in kind.

But I pitch and I re-pitch, then I refine and rewrite. Many a times I get rejected outright. All for a pittance.

Call me a loser, but I will press on.

And maybe, someday soon, I will make it as a more famous food critic.