3. Callum
Callum
Icheck the contents of my waist pack—thermocouple thermometers (check), water activity meter (check), pH test strips (check), flashlight (check, and working), measuring tape (check)—then grab my aluminum storage clipboard and pop it open to review the paperwork one last time before entering MingHin Kitchen.
Food service establishment. Opens tomorrow. Run by Yan and Mei Chung.
Most people assume health inspectors thrive on surprise.
In reality, it brings me no joy to low-grade a restaurant because there’s no splash guard on their handwashing sink.
With new family-owned joints, I like to come before opening day.
It gives the owners a little time to fix something major before customers arrive.
I step out of my government-issued car and adjust my lightweight plastic cap. A heavenly garlicky scent wafts through the air, reminding me I’ve only eaten a strawberries-and-cream protein bar today. It really did taste like chalk. Chalk and regret.
I’ve never arrived at an establishment the day before a grand opening and not found the owners scrambling around, trying to get everything ready, but when I push the front door open, it’s empty inside. If they’re unavailable, I’ll jot down a note and come back next week.
Weaving through the small tables in the main dining area, I arrive at the front counter and tap on the service bell.
I set down my clipboard to rummage around my waist pack for my Registered Environmental Health Specialist ID, pulling my thermometer out to see better.
Just as I retrieve my ID, a blonde woman who looks to be about my age walks through the kitchen door.
“Hi there!” She gives a small wave.
Objectively, she is one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Her fair skin glows beneath the dim restaurant lighting. The bow in her hair matches the bow earrings she has on, which match the small bow on her bracelet.
“Um, Mrs. Chung? I’m Callum Galvin, Toledo-Lucas County Health Inspector.” I flash my ID. “I wanted to stop by before your opening day to make sure everything is operating smoothly from a food safety perspective.” I hold out my hand for a bump.
Her eyes dart to my fist. “Oh, I’m not Mrs. Chung. And, I was just…” Her gaze drifts to the bell on the counter, like she’s the one who needs assistance. “…handling raw meat. I wouldn’t want to get, um, germs on you.”
I raise an eyebrow and lower my hand to my side to conduct a quick visual inspection.
No hair restraint. Long fingernails.
Food safety certified? Unlikely.
“There shouldn’t be pathogens on your hands if you follow proper washing protocols, which you should know if you’re handling food.”
She frowns. “But I’m—”
“How long have you worked here?”
“Not long.” Her purple dress swishes side-to-side as she sways on her feet, like she can’t help but move.
Before I let my gaze linger more than it already has, I train my focus back on the clipboard in front of me and clear my throat. “Can you tell me the temperature zone for hot holding foods?”
“Can I tell you the what for huh?”
“The zone. Or, since you’re new, I’ll take the internal cooked temperature for poultry.”
“You tell me.” A smirk plays at her full lips. “You’re the one with a metal box and the pokey thermometer.”
Pokey thermometer?
I put my thermometer away. “Employees should be trained on this information. Staff knowledge is a key component of my inspection.”
“I’m not that kind of emp—”
“Okay,” I sigh.
This woman is giving me nothing to work with.
“Unable to identify temp zone, unfamiliar with cooked poultry… Can you at least tell me the hand washing procedure here?”
She starts rummaging through a purse on the counter, completely distracted.
“There’s this pink foaming soap they have in the kitchen.
It makes your hands feel really soft. Mrs. Chung said it’s from a women’s collective Up North, and it smells like cherry blossoms. I think I might buy some for myself.
You should definitely check it out before you leave. ”
I narrow my gaze. “Perfumed soap for staff isn’t a core violation, but generally frowned upon when handling food.”
She squints at me. “Listen, Inspector Gadget—”
“Inspector Galvin,” I mutter.
“—I’m not the right person to be talking to you about any of this. Mr. and Mrs. Chung stepped out back to receive a delivery. I work here, but I don’t really work here.”
I squint right back at her. “What is it that you do?”
“Do you have a warrant?”
I almost drop my pen. “What? No.”
She folds her arms across her chest. “I’m invoking my first amendment rights.”
“Warrants are the fourth amendment.”
Raising an eyebrow, she says, “You would know, Officer.”
“I… I’m not law enforcement.”
“Then why do you have a badge and talk about amendments so much?”
I shake my head incredulously. “You were the one who brought it—”
“Anyway, I need to get going, and I’m sure you need to start your inspection.
Those temperatures won’t zone themselves.
” She grabs her purse and walks toward the front door, pausing at the threshold.
“Mr. and Mrs. Chung should be out any minute. Can you watch the place until they get back? Don’t forget to check out that soap before you leave.
You won’t be sorry.” She winks, letting the door fall closed behind her.
I stare, mouth agape, wondering who she is, what she was doing here, and if her fixation on the cherry blossom soap is cause for concern.
“Can we help you?”
I snap out of my golden-haired-girl-induced haze to find who I assume to be a confused-yet-smiling Mr. and Mrs. Chung.
“Erm, hi, yes. I’m Callum Galvin, a Health Inspector from the Toledo-Lucas County Health Department.” I hold my ID up.
The smiles fall from their faces—a classic occurrence. It never feels good, per se, getting a dismal reaction upon meeting business owners as if I’m the Grim Reaper of Food Service. But it’s something I’m used to.
“This is only a courtesy consultation. I’m not here to pass or fail your restaurant. Where’s the best place to wash my hands?”
They point to the bathroom, and I head in the direction they indicate for a double wash—the first step of any inspection when you’re not distracted by an inscrutable woman who commands your full attention.
I dispense the soap, immediately overwhelmed by the fragrance.
Huffing out a laugh, I give the foam an extra sniff. Cherry blossom, just like she said.
Who was she?
I decide to wash a third time, hoping the scent sticks to my skin.
A bit rattled and a lot confused, I walk out of the bathroom and meet the Chungs behind the counter.
“Do you mind showing me the kitchen area?” I ask.
Resigned, they walk me through the swinging doors.
I soften my tone. “I want to reassure you that I’m here to give you a chance to fix anything prior to tomorrow. I’ll come back for a graded inspection at a later time.”
Mrs. Chung’s posture relaxes, and I begin my work. Starting at the top of my checklist, I inspect their food storage and handling practices, followed by cleanliness, which takes me about thirty minutes.
I nod to the bucket and mop in the back. “What sanitizer do you use?”
“Chlorine-based, of course,” Mr. Chung answers.
Satisfied, I circle the “IN” on my form. Another box ticked. Everything looks good, with the exception of the open trash receptacles.
I wash my hands and give them the final report. “You’re in great shape—only one violation. When you open, make sure you have tight fitting lids for your cans, okay?”
“I’ll add it to the list,” Mrs. Chung tells me.
“Alright.” I give them a small, professional smile. “Then I’m all set.”
They walk me toward the front, and I consider going straight to my car, but I can’t leave without asking. Curiosity practically forces the question out.
“How many employees do you have?”
They both blink at me. Mrs. Chung’s nose scrunches, and Mr. Chung’s puzzled expression is tinged with worry.
“I’m sorry. This isn’t a trick question. I was just curious… uh, for a place this size. How many people do you need to run it?”
After a moment of hesitation, Mrs. Chung answers. “It’s just us and our two sons—they’re out running errands right now.”
My forehead wrinkles. “Oh. I spoke with someone earlier, when I first came in. She was…” Disorienting. Weird. Beautiful. “…kind of tall? With blonde hair?”
“Oh. Her?” Mrs. Chung shakes her head. “No, she doesn’t work here.”
Burning for more information—but knowing that it’s not professional—I nod and walk to the door.
The ghost of a cherry blossom scent lingers all day.
* * *
To my horror, a chorus of surprised cheers greets me as I walk into Cait’s celebration. And as soon as Clover sees me, she slaps a five dollar bill into Carter’s outstretched hand.
Usually, I’m the first to arrive anywhere, but I’d hoped a later entrance would help me go unnoticed. It didn’t work. Every single person is noticing me.
It’s been awhile since I was in Solid Grounds Cafe—I started making my coffee at home ages ago, and I can’t believe how much the space has changed.
Twinkle lights decorate the exposed brick walls, and the mismatched velvet furniture looks modern but comfortable. Even though the evenings have been getting cooler now, it’s really warm inside. I hang up my jacket on the rack near the door and take a deep breath before turning to face the group.
My mom’s work friend, Sherry, pops up out of nowhere.
“Cal! It’s been a minute since we’ve seen you out at town events,” she squeals, wrapping me in an aggressive hug.
“Hi, Sherry,” I manage with what little air she’s left in my lungs, untangling myself from her clutches. “Yeah, I wanted to support Caitlyn.”
“Good for you! What’re you up to these days?”
“Just the usual. Working, mostly. Going to the gym.”
“That’s so fun!” Sherry squeezes my arm.