In his dark sunglasses, fresh white shirt and tweed sport coat, Jack Miller could pass for a plainclothes cop. And, in a sense, he is one.
Miller is one of the 38 Orange County health inspectors--or "sanitarians," as they are officially called--who show up unannounced about three times a year to inspect the county's 8,200 food establishments, including supermarkets, taverns and warehouses as well as 4,800 restaurants.
Armed with a lollypop-shaped food thermometer, a can of insecticide to flush cockroaches into the light of day and a flashlight, Miller checks for general cleanliness and makes sure foods are being kept at proper temperatures.
On occasion, it gets a little hot in the kitchen with inspectors on the scene.
"We are insulting people to begin with," said Miller, a 13-year veteran. "We say, 'You are not doing this, this and this right.' They can argue, yell or scream at you."
Each restaurant, for example, is graded excellent, good, average, fair or poor, based on how well operators comply with regulations of the California Restaurant Act and the county Health Code. Evidence of sewage, severe rodent or vermin infestation and lack of electricity, for example, are causes for automatic revocation of a permit. But short of finding those or other immediate health hazards, it's up to the sanitarian to decide what, if any, action should be taken.
"Our primary goal is to motivate people to change, to be educators," said Robert Merryman, the county's environmental health director. "We try hard not to be capricious in using our authority to suspend permits." A sanitarian itemizes in writing any health code violations and leaves a copy of his list with the manager or owner at the time of the inspection. Depending on the number or seriousness of the violations, the inspector may return months later for a routine check, or may set up reinspection soon after, to see that corrections have been made.
If the violations remain, a more officious-looking Notice of Violation informs the proprietor that the conditions must be cleared up within a set time and that the owner has a right to a hearing. If a restaurant still does not comply, its operating permit is suspended.
"Notices usually clear up 90% of the problems," said Merryman, who added that his office is issuing more such notices each year.
From July, 1983, until July, 1984, 701 notices of violation were sent to Orange County food establishments, 98 places were closed and 48 disputes landed in court. In addition, inspectors investigated 411 complaints of food-related illnesses, and 117,000 pounds of rodent and insect-contaminated food were condemned as unfit for human consumption.
Within seconds of Miller's arrival at the Claim Jumper restaurant in Laguna Hills, the word spread through the kitchen faster than an antsy customer could say, "Check, please."
He's not exactly a celebrity, but Miller--or, more likely, his business card bearing the county seal--is well known to restaurant operators.
"The place goes bananas when they show up at the front door," said Wayne Smith, 22, the chef at the spacious, wood-paneled Claim Jumper, as he slid a lunch plate across the counter to a waitress. "People start sweeping up a little bit, and it gets real quiet." Miller politely inches his way around the kitchen, peering under tables and behind ovens as he checks for signs of insects or rodent droppings. None. "How we lookin'?" asks Phil Carrico, the restaurant's manager.
Miller doesn't answer. He enters a walk-in freezer and notes excess ice on the floor. In a dry storage area, he finds a 50-pound bag of popcorn on the floor. (Food must be stored at least six inches off the floor.) After checking to see that the hot foods are kept above 140 degrees and cold foods below 45, and that storage and trash areas are free of vermin and flies, Miller proceeds to the bar. He commends Carrico on the installation of a "sneeze guard"--a pane of glass shielding the "Happy Hour" hors d'oeuvres.
"We recognize that our job is to be critical. It's good to throw in some positive things as well," Miller says.
Next comes the liquor.
Swirling whiskeys, liqueurs and aperitifs, Miller turns his flashlight on the bottles in search of fruit flies, a common pest in liquor bottles that remain on the shelves for days. After peering into dozens of containers, he removes two bottles of Lauder's Scotch and one bottle of Crown Royal Whiskey for "voluntary condemnation." Tiny flies had made their way down the pouring spouts. "They have to throw these away while I watch," Miller explained.
After reviewing some 30 items with Carrico, Miller sets up a reinspection appointment for the following week. "I feel that all the suggestions he made were excellent," said Carrico, after Miller was gone. "He's taught to find things we don't see. He keeps us on our toes, and that way the community stays healthy and we keep up the standards."