Grease is the word

Photo by mollyeh11 on Flickr

Three times this year (twice in Tulsa, once in Wichita), I've walked into a locally-owned restaurant, enjoyed a delicious meal, and walked out smelling like a fryolator in need of an oil change. I haven't been back to any of them.

One of the restaurants is a venerable midtown Tulsa institution. The other is a new place: good food, friendly service, cool music and decor, free wifi, and, evidently, a malfunctioning vent hood. I assume it was malfunctioning, although I suppose they may have been going after a retro greasy-spoon ambiance.

After leaving each place, I stunk, maybe not badly enough that people around me noticed, but I noticed, and it bugged me until I could shower off the stink and put on clean clothes. It reminded me (and not at all in a pleasant way) of how I smelled each evening after a shift cooking Quarter Pounders five on the turn at the Catoosa McDonald's back in 1984.

I thought about going back to one of the restaurants today -- an item on their menu sounded really appealing -- but I took a pass. I didn't want to spend the rest of the day smelling like a rancid hushpuppy.

Restaurateurs, check your ventilation system. Greasy vapor shouldn't be wafting its way into the seating area. It's bad for your furnishings and bad for the customers, too.