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Should Mr. Bibendum "Michelin" inject himself with Ozempic before it's too late?
Should Mr. Bibendum "Michelin" inject himself with Ozempic
Before it's too late?
It’s often said that gastronomy stands on three pillars:
Butter, wine, and ego. But there’s a fourth one that often gets overlooked: tires.
Yes, an essential fact nobody asked for: the sacred Michelin star system, the global compass of fine dining, was created by two brothers whose real passion wasn’t reducing sauces but controlling how rubber wears on tires. Chances are, André and Édouard Michelin were the first to realize that you can make the public swallow anything, as long as it’s printed in a nice little red book (or Green) or nowadays, posted online.
The story of rubber that hasn’t worn out in over a century
Back in 1900, when France was driving slower than early-2000s Wi-Fi, the Michelin brothers launched a free guide to encourage motorists to leave home, get lost in the countryside, drive across France, and eventually buy new tires. The guide included maps, garages, affordable places to eat, and even hotels to recover from a long day on the road. But the real twist came in 1920, when André, visionary or cynic, depending on the day decided to start charging for the guide.
Because “people only truly respect what they pay for.”
A saying still true today, especially when it comes to your bill at a Michelin-starred restaurant.
By 1926, anonymous inspectors began handing out stars like generous teachers handing gold stars to well-behaved students. One star first, just to keep things modest. Then in 1931, the famous three-tier system appeared:
One star: “Stop here you won’t regret it too much.”
Two stars: “Take a detour you’ve got nothing better to do anyway.”
Three stars: “Book a plane ticket, take a sabbatical, mortgage your house it’s worth it.”
The “Invisible Man” inspector
The myth of the Michelin inspector
A mysterious figure capable of deciding a chef’s fate between two bites, still shakes the culinary world. He reserves, he eats, he pays. And yes, he actually pays, which shows how serious this is. Then he writes a report worthy of a secret agent on a covert mission.
The criteria?
Ingredients, technical mastery, the chef’s personality (on the plate, not on the phone), value for money (sometimes purely theoretical), and consistency. If your mashed potatoes are perfect three times, but only “pretty good” the fourth, goodbye star. Fine dining is a Greek tragedy in a white toque. There’s no room for decor, wine list, or service quality. Only the transactional relationship between dish and diner counts. One wonders if it’s the “experience” that has gone invisible and sadly, Michelin lost the recipe to make it visible again.
Blind inspectors went for a “Wooden Leg” in 1997
Because the trend was “Losers are winners,” and everyone is “Beautiful and Nice.”
But the pinnacle of unintentional comedy is the Bib Gourmand, and the forks and spoons. Created to say: “You’re not starred, but you’re adorable.” A sort of gastronomic consolation prize for restaurants that serve good food without bankrupting you to the point of selling a kidney on eBay. And all of this is symbolized by the Michelin mascot, a tire man smiling as if to say: “Hang in there… maybe someday.”
Key Criteria for the Bib Gourmand in the USA
- Cuisine quality: fresh ingredients, mastery of flavors and techniques, chef’s personality on the plate.
- Value for money: the defining feature, offering great bang for your buck.
- Price cap: three-course menus under a set local price (e.g., ~$49 in 2023).
- Style: simple, recognizable, satisfying food from bistros to taco stands.
- Consistency: quality maintained over visits.
Difference from stars:
Less about luxury or molecular gastronomy, more about tasty, accessible food.
Diversity: includes everything from neighborhood joints to sushi bars.
And Michelin’s Plates, Forks… and the mystery of Spoons
Yes, Michelin even rates the small print.
The Plate: First recognition, just a plate. No star, just a pat on the back for holding a knife and fork properly. Fresh ingredients, well-executed dishes job done, bravo!
The Forks: Here it’s about comfort, not cuisine. One fork: “It’s fine.” Five forks: “I could live here and eat every day.” Red forks? Congratulations you’re in a place so charming you almost don’t want to touch your plate.
The Spoons: Reserved for hotels.
Basically, Michelin has figured out how to rate everything: what you eat, where you eat, and even where you sleep. Why stop at food when you can control it all? So… when is the wine coming?
Michelin Wine: coming in 2026
After conquering plates and mattresses, Michelin now wants to conquer bottles. What’s the link between promoting tire wear and rating wine?
The MICHELIN Guide has already highlighted top wine lists and sommeliers, thanks to the “wine” pictogram created in 2004. Then, in 2019, the MICHELIN Sommelier Award was introduced (only two winners in 2025, both French!) to reward professionals who elevate the dining experience.
In 2026, the MICHELIN Cluster will debut: “A new distinction spotlighting vineyards worldwide, rated according to five universal criteria”.
The MICHELIN Cluster: a guide to excellence
Recommended: reliable producers whose well-made wines promise a quality experience.
One cluster: high-quality producers, wines of style and character, shining in the best vintages.
Two clusters: excellent producers with consistent quality in their terroir.
Three clusters: exceptional producers you can trust, whatever the vintage.
A cheeky and slippery conclusion
In an age of clusters, pictograms, and stars counted like points on a map, who needs sommeliers, professional wine critics, or even genuine love of wine? If everything can now be reduced to a red icon, maybe soon the only skill required is hitting “like.” Bibendum (Mr. Michelin) watches, always smiling in his tire suit, reminding us that ratings matter more than taste. And let’s be honest Michelin might have “eyes bigger than its mind,” to put it mildly. Bibendum, already quite plump and satisfied, might want to start his “Ozempic” injections before unleashing another festival of acute megalomania… and, inevitably, comedy.
Why stop there? If Michelin can turn a car trip into a star hunt, why not rate our fridge, groceries, or Sunday aperitifs? Wine, like tires, becomes something to measure, classify, and consume with ceremonial seriousness. So, raise your glass or consult the little clusters on your bottle, and applaud we have all become anonymous inspectors of our own pleasure, with Bibendum as the referee.
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