The life of a Michelin Guide inspector: traveling full-time to the world’s finest restaurants
Michelin requires extreme discretion from its inspectors—no interviews, no public appearances. Restaurants must not suspect you are an inspector at all. Often, I made reservations under fake names, using combinations of my friends’ identities. Today, it proves even more challenging with emails, credit cards, and other details. As a result, I frequently changed phones and emails to maintain anonymity.
- 2 months ago
October 18, 2024
Inspector reviews the menu at a Michelin-worthy restaurant. | Photo Courtesy of Victoriano Porto Canosa
MADRID, Spain — At 23 years old, I became the youngest inspector in Michelin Guide history. [Michelin Guides, a series of books, highlight restaurants around the world that earn stars for excellence. The inspectors are full-time employees traveling the globe to experience and rate the restaurants.] I went on to serve as the longest tenured inspector, retiring in 2022 after 35 years of service.
Over those decades, I secretly evaluated more than 10,000 restaurant meals across the globe. Today, I continue my journey as a consultant and speaker. After all these years, I still feel like a learner, a master of nothing.
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Applying for a role with the Michelin Guide: a leap into the unknown
For many years, I worked as a hospitality teacher at a public institution. One random Sunday in 1987, I spotted a job ad in La Voz de Galicia. The position required fluency in French and Portuguese, and a degree in hospitality and tourism, plus some experience abroad. I ticked all the boxes, but honestly, I did not give it much thought. After seeing the same ad for three Sundays in a row, I finally gave in and sent off my handwritten resume, old-school style.
When I found out it was for the Michelin Guide, I felt surprised. If knew upfront, I probably would have been a nervous wreck. Instead, I breezed through the interview process, chatting about my favorite things: wine and food. By the time the final interview approached, I decided to buy a new suit. It felt like a lucky break when I arrived to discover the restaurant required formal attire. At 23, I became the youngest inspector in the guide’s history.
One of my first assignments took me to El Bulli, Ferran Adrià’s renowned restaurant, which already boasted one Michelin Star when I visited in September 1988. That afternoon, I was the lone diner. Eating alone quickly became a norm as a guide inspector. As I tasted each dish, I became increasingly impressed. The cuisine seemed unlike anything I ever experienced.
On the drive back, I played the Dire Straits’ Making Movies cassette, trying to make sense of what I just experienced. I wondered, “How can I possibly evaluate such a groundbreaking experience?” I started doubting whether I fit this job. My words felt inadequate to capture the experience.
Hidden challenges of an inspector: beyond the perfect job
The following Monday, I submitted my report to Carlos Laredo, the Guide’s director, recommending two stars for El Bulli. He immediately dispatched two other inspectors to confirm my evaluation. During this time, I remained in my trial period, just five months on the job. I felt nervous their opinions would differ and I might lose the opportunity. When they returned the following week, I anxiously asked for their verdict.
“It is worth one star, no more,” they replied. I went to see my boss, full of fear. Instead of losing my job, my boss shared a lesson I never forgot. He said, “At Michelin, we need people to make decisions. Only those who act make mistakes. Learn from your errors but keep making decisions.” People often think being a Michelin Guide inspector is the perfect job. While it is a great job, it can also be incredibly challenging. Michelin inspectors evaluate two restaurants a day, Monday through Friday, except Friday nights.
Once, I had seven consecutive tasting menus: two on Monday, two on Tuesday, two on Wednesday, and one on Thursday. On Thursday, I visited a three-star restaurant offering an Iberian pork-tasting menu. The meal lasted three hours, and by the end, I could not take another bite. I spent the night sick and had to miss the rest of the week’s meals. A Michelin Guide inspector consumes nearly twice the calories of someone who eats at home. To balance it out, I had to walk up to 15 kilometers a day. I once ate 46 small dishes in a single lunch at Quique Dacosta’s restaurant.
Maintaining secrecy: a growing challenge in the digital age
Michelin requires extreme discretion from its inspectors—no interviews, no public appearances. Restaurants must not suspect you are an inspector at all. Often, I made reservations under fake names, using combinations of my friends’ identities. Today, it proves even more challenging with emails, credit cards, and other details. As a result, I frequently changed phones and emails to maintain anonymity.
However, Michelin did not interfere with my personal life. It was okay for close friends and family to know about your work. Outside my inner circle, I told people I worked at Michelin in tire sales. One night, after a paddle match with some neighbors in Madrid, we stayed to chat and eat. Someone mentioned a restaurant in Madrid with a Michelin star, claiming it had the best cocido in Spain. I jumped into the conversation, stating the restaurant had zero stars. The argument escalated until, out of frustration, I blurted out my identity as a Michelin inspector. I won the argument but lost the secrecy.
While we strive to remain anonymous, restaurants try to discover us. They engage in counter-espionage, sharing information to figure out who and where we are. Once, I arrived at a restaurant unannounced. After eating and paying, I introduced myself to the chef, as was the custom. Minutes later, a friend from the area texted me that the local chefs already knew about my presence. A waiter shared my photo via WhatsApp. Today, inspectors are instructed to never reveal their identity.
My final meal as a Michelin inspector: transitioning to consultant and speaker
I always understood the impact our reviews had on restaurants. In 1989, after introducing myself to a restaurant owner post-payment, she broke down in tears. Around that time, the Guide had taken away their Michelin star. Her husband tried to comfort her, while I stood there, speechless. I kept reminding myself that one inspector never makes or breaks a star; the decisions remain collective. However, I knew losing a star could mean a restaurant’s closure and affect the families behind it.
Many times, my work deeply moved me. I remember visiting El Bulli again. I encountered the spherical olive, a 2003 innovation by the chef. As soon as I placed it on my tongue, it burst, releasing all its flavor without me biting into it. At the same time, I felt a lightness with an indescribable silky texture. “Wow, what is this?” I thought. It felt like being part of a magic act, transporting me to another realm.
In December 2022, I enjoyed my final meal as a Michelin Guide inspector. The global director allowed me to choose the restaurant. I selected a two-star venue in Madrid, convinced it deserved a third star. Knowing it would be my last time in the role felt strange, but I felt grateful for the opportunity to love my job and work with such great professionals and people. Sitting at the table, reflecting on the past 35 years, I thought, “The next meal will be on my terms.”
Now, I stay deeply connected to gastronomy by working as a restaurant consultant and speaker. Wherever I travel, I explore top restaurants—a habit that gives me personal joy. Despite all my experiences, I still believe the best meals I had were in my childhood home, where every dish remained infused with my mother’s love.
