So, I'm talking to the Health Department Lady, walking beside her as she inspects our bookstore's Cafe. Health Department visits are intentionally unannounced, and the inspector surprised me - catching me in the Cafe's prep kitchen. I wasn't doing anything bad of course; it was actually quite the opposite: I was cleaning out the breakroom refrigerator, and had just washed its pieces in the kitchen's high-powered sanitizer. The inspector was taken back. "Do you always clean the employee refrigerator like that?" she asked, impressed. I nodded. "I'm a compulsively-clean gay man. I clean my refrigerator at home just as thoroughly." I could tell by her growing smile that I had made a friend for life -
When it comes to female Health Department inspectors, gay men are PORN FOR WOMEN :)
When it comes to female Health Department inspectors, gay men are PORN FOR WOMEN :)
Osaka Grill & Supreme Buffet, Bolingbrook IL Over the course of her visit, I chatted with the inspector about restaurant cleanliness. She explained the different classifications of businesses - how restaurants are considered more dangerous than say, Cafes like ours (that only prepare frozen food) - and how ethnic "culture" plays a big part in how a restaurant is run. "Chinese restaurants are the worst," she said. "They come from a culture where they don't wash their hands when cooking ...and I've even found children in the kitchen." I was aghast: "Children cooked like dogs? Or do you mean child labor?" The inspector clarified: "I mean, you'll see a Chinese grandmother cutting chicken and baby-sitting at the same time. The child will be in the kitchen, in a diaper, in a stroller, rolling around the floor between the prep tables and the grease fryers. One wrong move and " -
"Whir! Whir! CHOP-CHOP-CHOP-CHOP!" I finished her sentence - and imitated a baby who had just fallen into a food processor. I imagined dumplings filled with shiny red goo, being eaten by aging news anchors.
"I NEVER eat at Chinese restaurants," the inspector added.
"Whir! Whir! CHOP-CHOP-CHOP-CHOP!" I finished her sentence - and imitated a baby who had just fallen into a food processor. I imagined dumplings filled with shiny red goo, being eaten by aging news anchors.
"I NEVER eat at Chinese restaurants," the inspector added.
Ancient Chinese secret ingredient As Chinese food is one of my greatest guilty pleasures, I was sad to hear the inspector's comments. I love Asian grub, good buffets in particular, and hearing firsthand stories of icky Oriental kitchens shattered my fantasy of crisp white uniformed chefs and shiny metal cooking surfaces. Sure, I know - Ive always known, in fact - that most Chinese restaurants aren't as clean as American chains. I've worked for many restaurants over the years, and in my experience, even the greasiest spoon called an exterminator when the rats started eating the roaches.
But again, that's an American environment - and we know what triggers food born illness. In Chinese culture, sadly, golden batter can hide many violations, and deep fryers can be just as effective as Orkin spray. There's a reason why those dumplings are crunchy, and why that sauce is starting to coagulate. If you have a complaint, I'll happily send the manager by your table...but please give her a minute. The bidet is broken, so she's using the three-compartment sink.
But again, that's an American environment - and we know what triggers food born illness. In Chinese culture, sadly, golden batter can hide many violations, and deep fryers can be just as effective as Orkin spray. There's a reason why those dumplings are crunchy, and why that sauce is starting to coagulate. If you have a complaint, I'll happily send the manager by your table...but please give her a minute. The bidet is broken, so she's using the three-compartment sink.
"Jumbo Buffet" post fire There's a Chinese buffet in walking distance of my house, in an old 1950s-era shopping center. It's the kind restaurant best enjoyed with a buzz, and it actually closed down once from a grease fire; it's YELP reviews have never been kind. I make an effort to support local businesses, and I've had lunch/dinner there a few times over the years. I'll spare you the Michelin review, but I will say that what I remember most about my experiences is that the whole restaurant felt slippery - as though every surface had been sprayed with PAM. Carrying a plate from the steam tables to our booth took the same concentration as roller skating. Now that I think about it, the floor was probably a distraction.
In many ways, my local Chinese buffet so bad it's good. The food is just...terrible, but the atmosphere is even worse: The booths - like a 1977 Ford LTD - are upholstered in hard burgundy vinyl, and separated by dirty brass & glass covered in fingerprints. The windows are "steamy," with filthy vertical blinds that hang at angles because of piles of sticky booster seats and high chairs covered in crud. Mismatched ceiling fans hang down from above like lynching victims. The kitchen-grade floor tile as mentioned is perceptually slick. The highlight of the dining room is the buffet, itself - a series of 1980s-era steam tables, dropped from the Golden Girls set into a storefront last repainted in the Clinton administration.
After my conversation with the Health Department lady, seeing how poorly my local buffet maintains its dining room, I can only imagine the horrors within its kitchen. Not only is Grandma babysitting, she's been dead for years - like Norman Bates's mother. No worries, though; just roll her in batter and cook her in the fryer for a few minutes. We call the dish, HAPPY FAMILY...with a nod to our beloved Grandma.
So long as somebody washes their hands, the Health Department will give us a pass...
In many ways, my local Chinese buffet so bad it's good. The food is just...terrible, but the atmosphere is even worse: The booths - like a 1977 Ford LTD - are upholstered in hard burgundy vinyl, and separated by dirty brass & glass covered in fingerprints. The windows are "steamy," with filthy vertical blinds that hang at angles because of piles of sticky booster seats and high chairs covered in crud. Mismatched ceiling fans hang down from above like lynching victims. The kitchen-grade floor tile as mentioned is perceptually slick. The highlight of the dining room is the buffet, itself - a series of 1980s-era steam tables, dropped from the Golden Girls set into a storefront last repainted in the Clinton administration.
After my conversation with the Health Department lady, seeing how poorly my local buffet maintains its dining room, I can only imagine the horrors within its kitchen. Not only is Grandma babysitting, she's been dead for years - like Norman Bates's mother. No worries, though; just roll her in batter and cook her in the fryer for a few minutes. We call the dish, HAPPY FAMILY...with a nod to our beloved Grandma.
So long as somebody washes their hands, the Health Department will give us a pass...