Thanks to Matt over at Sticks Of Fire, I've taken to looking over the health inspections of restaurants I go to. It is a guilty, transitory pleasure that ultimately disappoints: either the restaurant has a dreadful record involving live roaches in the food prep area and unlabeled chicken drippings stored next to the apple juice, or the joint is clean and I am denied the illicit horror of having eaten at a pit. Either way, I recommend not clicking here to check out your favorite restaurants. As if you could resist.
This article appears in May 2-8, 2007.
