It's hard to be a critic . . .

They arrive cloaked in secrecy, often using fictitious names and sometimes donning disguises.

Restaurant critic Frank Bruni says he used credit cards with pseudonyms to try to keep his anonymity.

They aren't spies. They're restaurant critics, whose mere presence can make even the calmest chef shake in his or her chef whites.

And one critic strikes even more fear than the rest.

"The zenith, the pinnacle is the New York Times restaurant critic," says Jimmy Bradley, owner of The Red Cat restaurant in Manhattan's Chelsea section.

For the past five years, that position has been held by Frank Bruni, a former political reporter whose witty restaurant reviews garnered him a loyal readership.

Restaurant owners do everything in their power to spot a critic in the crowd. And in a cat-and-mouse game, critics try every trick in the book to go unnoticed, so they'll be treated like anyone else.

Bradley has been keeping tabs on Bruni, compiling a dossier that describes Bruni's preferences, his aliases, his usual dining companions, even his clothing.

"He likes to wear pretty funky sneakers," Bradley shares.

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