In the kitchen with health inspector Scott Nethery.
The hand sink is where health inspector Scott Nethery always begins, and that’s the case on this rainy, late-spring morning. As he enters an upscale-casual Bardstown Road restaurant’s kitchen, he beelines to the hand sink. Nethery pumps three squirts of pink liquid soap into his palms, lathers it up and makes sure the water rinsing away the suds is hot. It takes 20 seconds — maybe longer. Yes, he starts here because he needs clean hands to inspect the kitchen, but Nethery also does this because a hand sink that’s not “up to code” — which, according to Kentucky regulations, means a sufficient amount of “hand cleansers, sanitary towels/hand-drying devices provided, (and) proper waste receptacles” — may indicate problems to come.
Problems such as the time he discovered tongs hanging on the lip of a garbage can. Or when he’s seen employees sneeze and cough into their hands and not wash them before handling food. He once entered a “pitch black” dry storage room, flipped on the light switch and watched a mouse scurry across the ground. Another time, a restaurant’s kitchen floor drain was spewing out sewage and the pool that formed created an “imminent health hazard” that required Nethery to shut down the facility until the disaster was repaired.
Judging by the hand sink, it doesn’t seem that Nethery will encounter horror stories like these on this particular morning. “There,” he says, drying his hands with a few brown paper towels. “This sink looks good.”
Nethery’s mouthful of a title (environmental health specialist for the Louisville Metro Department of Public Health and Wellness) is basically a fancy description for the health inspector in charge of the metro area’s other health inspectors. While in uniform — a navy-blue polo shirt and ball cap featuring Health Department logos, khaki pants and a lanyard from which an encased thermometer hangs — Nethery, who carries a yellow legal pad to scribble notes, walks through the kitchen, careful to stay out of the half-dozen employees’ way.
“A lot times it’s a nerve-wracking thing for the facilities when we come in,” he says. “I try to put them at ease when I first walk in the door and turn it into an educational process, a learning process.”
Although chattering employees may quiet down when a Health Department employee walks into a kitchen, not all restaurant owners are terrified of the semiannual inspections. “It’s great having an extra pair of eyes that aren’t looking at the operation day in, day out,” says Susan Seiller, the proprietor at Jack Fry’s. “It’s just like having a food critic. If you feel that you’re doing the best you can do every day, then it’s not going to make you nervous.”
At the morning examination of an eatery that will remain anonymous in this story, Nethery, with the head chef carrying his own notepad close behind, walks past some storage racks and is pleased to find properly labeled plastic tubs — pecans, almonds, walnuts. He smoothes his hand over a couple of cans, which look good too. “A bloated can means something is growing inside,” Nethery says, grabbing a freezer door’s handle. He pulls. Nothing. Pulls again. No give. “This is a very good seal,” he says, before finally yanking open the door to check the thermometer inside. Everything’s in “really good shape” in this kitchen — the freezers, refrigerators, stovetops, commercial dishwashers, microwaves, wash-rinse-sanitize basins. The only problem he discovers is with the co-ed bathroom’s trashcan; it needs a cover. He jots the word “cover” onto his legal pad, but tells the head chef that “this is very, very minor.”
In all, the Retail Food Establishment Report filed for each inspection has 44 items broken into 15 sections, which food-service managers learn about at a required sanitation course. If a “food-service facility” violates one of these items, an inspector will deduct points from its overall score — 93 to 100 percent is an A, or very good; 85 to 92 percent is a B, or passing; and 84 percent and below is a C, or poor. The letter-grade system, in place since 2002, requires restaurants to hang their placards prominently for the public to see. “I have friends who dine out regularly, and they mention to me when they notice a restaurant has gotten a B-rating or a C-rating. Even if it’s a B it throws off alarms,” Seiller says.
One immediately uncorrectable critical violation — such as rodents, sewage problems or no hot running water — results in a failing score, and a 59 percent or below results in immediate closure. “But if you’re ready,” says Asiatique co-owner Pabs Sembillo, “it’s not that stressful.” Nethery, who’s 35 and has been a health inspector for nearly 10 years, agrees. “We expect them to keep their facility up to code all the time, whether we’re there or not,” he says. “We don’t want them making corrections because they know we’re coming. That’s why we just kind of hop in and surprise them. If they knew we were coming, they’d have the date on their calendar with big polka dots around it.”
Roughly 3,800 food-service facilities — restaurants, schools, grocery stores, even Churchill Downs and Papa John’s Stadium — operate in Jefferson County, and that number is growing, sometimes daily. The area’s 10 inspectors, including Nethery, each has his or her own zone (with 300 to 380 establishments), and there is also a “floating inspector” to help backed-up zones. Inspectors, who typically work during the week unless a restaurant is only open on weekends, see about five facilities each day and, depending on a place’s size, can sp/files/storyimages/up to four hours performing a single inspection.
“I like feeling like I’m doing good for the community — coming out and making sure that our food supply is safe,” Nethery says. “People would be surprised that, generally, food-service facilities do a really good job, and the reason is this: They’re a business . . . and causing illness will make them lose money, if not their business altogether.”
About 87 percent of food-service facilities earn A’s, 5 percent B’s and 8 percent C’s. In a sampling of 10 restaurants that received a C-letter grade dating back to April 2006, most scored in the 70s or 80s. Last January, however, one Taylorsville Road restaurant specializing in international cuisine committed 21 violations, earned a 55 percent and was closed immediately. According to the Establishment Report, the facility needed to “store wiping cloths in sanitizer solution when not in use,” “store utensils in clean location,” “replace broken glass on reach-in cooler” and “label all toxics and cleaning supplies,” among other things. After the follow-up inspection the next week, which is the standard time that passes in such cases, the restaurant scored 100 percent and the inspector wrote, “All violations corrected. Great job!”
Last March, a nationally known breakfast chain, located on Bishop Lane, committed 19 violations, earned a 58 percent and was also closed on the spot. The Establishment Report read, “potentially hazardous food not maintained at 45 degrees Fahrenheit,” “employee not washing hands as required,” “dishwashing facility not properly maintained,” “floors not clean” and “soiled linen(s) not properly stored,” to name a few. The restaurant got a 93 percent on its follow-up.
“We understand these things are going to happen,” Nethery says. “What they should do is close, get the problem solved and then reopen. What I try to explain to them is that the cost of closing for a few hours to clean and take care of the problem is not going to be near the cost of a lawsuit if somebody were to become ill.”
The inspector says he’ll still dine “just about anywhere” in Louisville. His experience, however, is different than the typical Louisvillian’s. “When I go out to eat, I look around and I’ll see things,” he says. “My wife’s always telling me to quit looking, but you don’t. You always keep your eyes open when you’re out. I’m always on the job.”
