Last month, Aubrey and Philip Blanda had a special dinner at La Grenouille ruined by city health inspectors. (Anne Wermiel)
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For Aubrey and Philip Blanda, it was supposed to be a special night out. After nearly a year of trying, they’d finally scored tickets to see “The Book of Mormon” on Broadway. On a friend’s recommendation, they’d made a reservation three weeks ahead for a fancy pre-theater meal at Midtown’s La Grenouille. They’d left their teenage sons at home and driven in from Glen Ridge, NJ. But the couple hadn’t even gotten through their appetizers when someone strode in and ruined their evening.
Just before 6 p.m., as Aubrey was finishing up her mushroom risotto and Philip his foie gras, a health inspector waltzed into the elegant French restaurant. The kitchen ground to a halt to deal with the ensuing inspection, and the couple’s server informed the Blandas the restaurant would not be able to serve them any more food.
“I was really looking forward to [the meal],” laments Philip, 51, an IT professional. “Not that going without oxtail is a tragedy, but . . . I thought it showed a real lack of understanding on the city’s part, to come into a service-oriented business and interrupt them.”
Last month, La Grenouille was subjected to two Health Department visits, despite consistently having an “A” grade. (The first was a regular annual inspection, which interrupted a dinner Mayor Bloomberg was having at the restaurant; the second was the result of an anonymous tip.)
Although not exactly widespread, a dinner ruined by a health inspection is a growing nuisance for New Yorkers looking to enjoy a romantic meal or celebrate with friends, only to be shown the door.
The number of restaurant inspections by the Department of Health and Mental Hygiene has risen sharply in recent years. In 2002, there were 33,254 inspections. Last year, there were 98,176, according to figures from a report by Public Advocate Bill de Blasio, a mayoral candidate.
Earlier this month, Dan Stewart, a 33-year-old magazine editor, wanted to take a friend visiting from London to Brooklyn Star for a cocktail. When they walked into the Williamsburg eatery on a busy Thursday at about 8 p.m., an embarrassed server informed them that a health official had just come in and the restaurant was only serving soda and water — no food or booze.
“I was bummed, because Brooklyn Star does a mean Old-Fashioned, and I’d wanted to show it off to a friend from out of town,” recalls the British native who now lives in Clinton Hill. “Of course, we’re more than familiar with overzealous bureaucrats in the UK.”
According to restaurateurs, Mayor Bloomberg’s blue-coated buzzkills are increasingly invading city eateries during peak times, shutting down service for several hours and leaving diners hungry and businesses broke. (La Grenouille owner Charles Masson estimates he lost $30,000 in revenue due to inspections in a single night.)
Anything less than an “A” grade can mean thousands of dollars in fines and lost business. Restaurants aren’t required to stop serving customers during a health probe, but with so much on the line — and a strange person roaming about a busy kitchen — most do.
In January, The Post reported that secret buzzers had been installed in Mario Batali’s restaurants to alert the staff of a health bureaucrat’s arrival.
“There’s so much at stake,” says Peter Hoffman, chef-owner of Back Forty and Back Forty West restaurants. “If you squeeze a lemon with your bare hands, that’s a violation.”
When a Health Department killjoy visited Chuko last year, the popular Prospect Heights ramen joint immediately shut the kitchen down in the middle of service.
“It put a damper [on the evening],” recalls John Martin Widger, 41, a small-business owner and Bed-Stuy resident who was at the restaurant with his girlfriend. “We were celebrating the day before Valentine’s Day.”
While Chuko chef and co-owner Jamison Blankenship declines to give an actual dollar figure, he says he loses 25 percent of a day’s revenue when a Health Department employee comes knocking.
Chuko has had a “B” rating since opening in 2011, so it’s subject to four inspections each year.
“We’re a clean restaurant,” insists Blankenship. The checkups are “always [due to] something new that the person who came before [said] wasn’t an issue.”
Health monitors don’t just halt food service, they even take chairs away from customers after they’re done in the kitchen.
“Last time they were in, [the inspector] decided to sit down at our four-top, [and] we actually had to ask a customer to leave,” recalls one downtown restaurateur who declined to give his name because he’s “living in fear” of his next inspection.
And Melissa Meier, 30, got more familiar than she wanted to with a health inspector last spring when she was trying to enjoy a nice lunch at Sauce with her then-boyfriend.
Though the Lower East Side Italian restaurant was nearly empty, the inspector plunked down at a table right near her and spent a half-hour writing up his report.
“It was so weird, we were the only people in there,” the Williamsburg resident recalls. “Why you gotta sit right next to me?”
On a Friday in early February at Zenkichi in Williamsburg, a scrutinizer came in from 7 to 8:30 p.m. — “prime-time rush hour,” says owner Shaul Margulies. Then, at 9 p.m., another inspector showed up and informed the restaurant the first inspector had been a trainee. The second tester stayed until 11 p.m.
“It was a nightmare!” says Margulies. “They take a huge toll in terms of stress levels and financial losses.”
When confronted with such complaints, the Health Department continues to defend its practices.
“[Inspectors] do not stop food preparation or service during their inspection,” reads a Health Department statement sent to The Post. “Restaurants that earn A grades on initial inspections are inspected only once a year, limiting any inconvenience.”
That wasn’t the case with A-rated La Grenouille and Zenkichi — although the Health Department disputes visiting La Grenouille two times last month, and says Zenkichi’s second visit lasted 15 minutes, not two hours.
And most New York restaurateurs, many of whom were too scared of the Health Department to go on the record, say it is essential to stop cooking to get through an inspection and avoid racking up too many violations.
“It’s really the only easy way to do it,” says Jimmy Bradley, chef-owner of the Red Cat and the Harrison, noting that if there’s no food being prepared, there’s less chance of getting dinged with points.
After their ruined night, which La Grenouille didn’t charge them for, the Blandas don’t plan on spending any more money dining out in NYC.
“Now I have this fear of coming in [to the city],” says Aubrey, 48. “It’s a treat for us, and an expense.”
“We can go to the theater [in New York] and eat in New Jersey,” says Philip. “There’s plenty of restaurants in New Jersey, and this never happens to me there.”
heber@nypost.com
The road to a ‘B’ rating
No wonder most restaurants shut down their kitchens when a health inspector comes in. It takes just 14 points to get a dreaded “B” rating, and points for seemingly small offenses, like these, can add up fast:
The Health Department doesn’t care that to make sushi properly, chefs need bare hands. It’s a seven-point violation — and an automatic hit for traditional sushi spots.
Restaurants with free communal bar snacks can rack up two points per bowl — if an inspector catches customers using bare hands to dig in, instead of provided tongs.
Allowing meat to “rest” after cooking is a common practice to lock in juices and flavor, but it’s technically a seven-point violation if a hot food’s temp falls below 140 degrees.