BAKERSFIELD, Calif. (KGET) — If you’ve ever been a reader of the Bakersfield Californian, you know his name — but not necessarily his face.

Anonymous food critic Pete Tittl, the most famous Bakersfield celebrity whose face you probably have never seen, has retired.

Humans have a fascination with anonymity. There’s something consistently compelling about a cloak of mystery surrounding identity. Be it superheroes, masked singers or fantasy wizards, we often feel a need to snatch away the cloak.

Tittl has been teasing our urge to peek behind the curtain for an astounding 43 years. The Californian’s restaurant critic has been the man without a face since 1980. This month, Tittl finally took that bag off his head.

Tittl has been our dining companion for roughly 3,000 meals, ranging from lip smacking perfection to lukewarm blandness, from creative genius to mundane dull, regularly sharing the good, the bad and the over-seasoned. In the process, striking fear and dread into hearts of chefs and restaurant owners alike while inspiring perhaps nearly as much foreboding as a county health inspector.

“There are places like New York City, San Francisco, New Orleans, and Los Angeles, that are amazing food cities…We’re not in that league,” said Tittl. “But for a city our size, I feel like we’re a lot better than most people give us credit for.”

Tittl ate bad food so you wouldn’t have to. He praised great food so you’d know where to go. And he did it all undercover so he’d be treated just like any other diner. Now his story can be told – Pete Tittl Unmasked – over huevos rancheros at 24th Street Cafe, an enduring, endearing favorite of his.

“They put such thought into their food here,” said Tittl. “I love restaurants, even if they’re not as successful, that put thought into their food, trying to be creative.”

His favorite meal of all time is a hard one to figure out. It’s a tie, among several local restaurants, past and present. Uricchio’s Trattoria has been a consistent favorite. The Red Pepper, Woolgrowers, Luigi’s, Mama Tosca’s, the Bistro and Lemucchi’s Tam O’Shanter are high on his list as well.

The worst of all time was the now defunct John Bryan’s on California Avenue. Tittl felt so bad about giving them a bad grade, he went back and gave them another chance – and then another. His stance didn’t change at all.

Some of the tricks of his trade have included reservations under fake names, always paying with cash and keeping his picture out of the paper.

“I didn’t want people to know who I am and wanted to be treated like an ordinary person like you or anybody else out here,” said Tittl. “I don’t want special treatment because how is that helpful to readers who are reading the column?”

A Wisconsin native and inveterate Green Bay Packers fan whose father owned a small diner, Tittl was a full time newspaper staffer in Bakersfield for 15 years. He took a buyout, obtained his teaching credential and taught high school for nearly 30 years, retiring last June as the Liberty High yearbook advisor. He wrote most of those restaurant reviews as a freelancer, always with the help of a dining companion – usually wife Susan, and occasionally one or more of their three children.

Tittl has had another side gig as well. He has been a movie and television extra for nearly as long as he’s been a food critic. He was a regular on Mad Men, appearing in a variety of roles, including an office receptionist. (Jon Hamm, he says, is an authentically nice guy.) Tittl was a cameraman for the Ed Sullivan Show in Jersey Boys. He was a juror in the film Chicago 8, a cop on Dexter, a Naval officer on CSI.

His most enduring role has been as a food critic. The newspaper made as much of a big deal of his anonymity as of his discerning palate – plastering his bag-head image on billboards and teasing the mystery of his identity on t-shirts — “I am not Pete Tittl!” — which were handed out as prizes to readers.

You might guess Tittl has consumed enough pasta over the years to kill a rhino, but he takes care when it comes to the rich cream sauces most prone to spoilage. Tittl takes Anthony Bourdain’s advice: steer clear of Hollandaise sauce.

At age 68, retirement from writing food reviews is here, but not from eating. You might catch him at 24th Street Cafe, indulging in an unpretentious favorite. If he’s learned anything in these past 43 years, it’s that the simple things tend to age best.