Who Cooked Your Dinner? A Cautionary Tale

When we booked our reservation at a highly recommended tapas restaurant in the village a few weeks ago, we never imagined we would get wrapped up in a public health incident that snared our family, friends and even friends of friends. Recently back from a short trip to Spain to visit my daughter, who is studying in Seville, I was enthusiastic about tapas and eager to sample some in New York. A foodie in the city suggested we try Alta on 10th Street, and rather than celebrate the second night of Passover with a Seder we invited our kids and a few friends for a festive evening out.

At first we had trouble finding Alta, which is below street level in a row of townhouses, but once inside, we were served up some very strong Sangria and the evening was off to a promising start.

We ordered quite a few tapas to share –and I must admit that time and the sangria have erased all memory of what we ate. I remember that everything was tasty and quickly consumed by our party of six. And we didn't stop with the tapas. When the waiter proffered the dessert menu we ordered some of that as well. Again, I can no longer recall exactly what we ordered but we left the restaurant in excellent spirits and when we found the car on the street without a parking ticket we deemed the evening a success.

That was until Saturday April 6, when I got an email from my foodie buddie quickly followed by another email from the mother of my daughter's friend who had joined us for dinner that night. Turns out that the dessert chef at the restaurant had been diagnosed with Hepatitis A, a potentially deadly virus, and a warning was being sent to everyone who had dined at Alta between March 23 and April 2 when this chef was on duty. The NYC Public Health Department advised that anyone who had eaten there between those dates, and specifically eaten dessert, get a vaccine against Hepatitis A. The Health Department had even gotten all the phone numbers of those who had reserved to eat at Alta during that time period and I received a phone call advising me to get the vaccine. The good news was that if we got vaccinated within two weeks of exposure we should all be fine.

My husband, who is a physician, thought about it briefly and decided that our 27 year-old son should get the vaccine, especially as he tends towards hypochondria, as he told a NY Post reporter at the clinic.  When our 24 year-old daughter called from New Orleans my husband instructed her to go to the university health center and get the shot too, though she was pretty sure she never tasted the dessert. I also wanted to get the vaccine. My husband, figuring he was already immune from all his years of exposure to various diseases in the hospital, was leaning against the vaccination for himself. So – we hopped into the car and headed off to the NYC Health Department at Ninth Avenue and 28th street to check out the scene.

On the way into the city, my husband got in touch with his colleague Dr. Joel Ernst at NYU – who was an infectious disease expert. It took him less than a minute to tell my husband, in no uncertain terms, to get the vaccine. He told us that when he was a boy his father had fallen ill with Hepatitis A and was so sick that he went from, "thinking he would die to being afraid he wouldn't." Dr. Ernst also reassured us that the vaccine had few side effects and was not risky.

Though the NYC Health Department looked bare and institutional they had set up an efficient weekend team to vaccinate hundreds of diners. We filled out a series of forms and were then ushered into a small room with a very efficient Caribbean nurse named Marilyn. She completed even more paperwork and then instructed us to relax while she gave us a shot in the arm. It was surprisingly painless and was over in a flash. With a smile Marilyn said, "this is why you are so lucky to live in the United States." We sat in a waiting room for a few minutes to make sure we didn't get a reaction to the shot and then we were on our way.

My husband, who works at NYU Medical Center, was impressed with the entire operation of weekend workers who had come in on a moment's notice to avert what could have been a major health crisis. It reaffirmed his faith in government and demonstrated why we need to fund public health programs to safeguard our individual health and society as a whole.

Though I was grateful that the Health Department was able to intervene this time, the incident made me wonder how many other kitchen staffers at restaurants are sick with contagious diseases and never report them. We heard through the grapevine about a similar incident at a Scarsdale restaurant that was never made public. I guess what you don't know can hurt you!

When I woke up Saturday morning I never expected that I would find myself at the NYC Health Department in Chelsea, but when I woke up on Sunday, I was so happy I had gone.