Pests Pester Even the Poshest of Posh Spots

A certain kind of attentive urbanite who pores over the restaurant closures list was startled, stunned and finally bemused Tuesday to find that there--just down the alphabetic food chain from Alberta’s Mexican Food and the American Golf Course Bar & Kitchen--was the unmistakable inclusion of . . . the Four Seasons Hotel.

For “vermin infestation” last month--specifically, cockroaches.

What?

At the Four Seasons, that high-octane mecca of Hollywood deal makers?

That scene-setter for fawning star profiles by tabloidesque industry scribes?

That temple of opulence where personal whims are catered to at levels seemingly unrivaled since the eve of the French Revolution?

Perhaps not since George Orwell rocked the literary world with his description of a kitchen where he toiled in “Down and Out in Paris and London” has a landmark of elegance been so thoroughly called into question.

Is nothing sacred?

Those who rushed over to South Doheny Drive on Tuesday found the place sporting an air of apparent unconcern. Concierges in suits trimmed with gold braid, patrons with sunglasses, umbilical cell phones and Armani suits--all went about their business complacently.

“Is this the kind of thing that interests major newspapers these days?” exhaled one woman with a look of boredom, even borderline hostility, when informed of the news.

More forthcoming was Joyce Bonaventura, public relations director at the Four Seasons Hotel Los Angeles at Beverly Hills (which is technically just inside Los Angeles), who looked almost like a diplomat in an impeccable antique green suit.

Its posh restaurant and other dining spots did not actually close at the 285-room, 16-floor hotel, Bonaventura maintained--but the main kitchen did, forcing the hotel to move the preparation of such dishes as its foie gras ($17) and its peppercorn-crusted dry aged prime New York steak ($35) to auxiliary kitchens while the problem was addressed.

The saga began April 24, when Los Angeles County health inspectors showed up for a surprise inspection, Bonaventura said.

She took a reporter behind the gilded mirrors, the yellow “dancing lady” orchids, the silk drapes--back into the bowels of the kitchen. It was a busy hive of chopping, frying and hoisting of heavy, tilting trays. She pointed out the spot behind an industrial-strength dishwasher where the infestation had been discovered.

“The health department has a zero tolerance policy, which is fabulous, and we’re glad, because we eat out like anybody else,” she said with seamless cool.

Terrance Powell, the chief environmental health specialist for the county Department of Health Services, elaborated on the telephone, from a presumably less glamorous, more bureaucratic setting.

There were egg capsules--six or more, he said. Five or six dead insects on the floor and five or more live adults on the wall, “and 12 plus nymphs--those are baby roaches,” he said. Plus two dead nymphs stuck to some tape in the dishwasher area.

“If one is to add all this up, what does it mean?” Powell asked. “It essentially indicates there is a vermin infestation at that location.

“We don’t take closures lightly,” he continued. “We also had a suspension and revocation hearing about this happening, and that speaks to the gravity of the situation.”

That was April 26. There was a reinspection--”we went out and found the infestation was still there. We kept it closed.”

Finally, early April 27, the place passed. Its A rating, the highest in the county system, was reinstated.

“As I said, it’s good they do thorough inspections,” Bonaventura reiterated, with the resolute civility of a British protocol chief. “As a company that offers food and beverages, we’re all fighting for the same thing.”