Grease becomes a hot commodity
Men in trucks are fighting over a dirty and sometimes foul-smelling substance that restaurants once paid to get hauled off.
Fort Worth Star-Telegram
FORT WORTH, Texas — In darkened alleyways, a slimy cat-and-mouse game is playing out across America.
Men in trucks are fighting over a dirty and sometimes foul-smelling substance that restaurants once paid to get hauled off. Now it can be worth thousands per truckload. Liquid gold, some in the trade call it.
It’s grease — used kitchen cooking oil from deep fryers at KFC and the seasoned saucepans of the fanciest French restaurant.
The increasingly consolidated industry, ranging from mom and pop operations to publicly traded giants, is marked by cutthroat competition to claim restaurant accounts. And all of them have to grab their grease before a ragtag swarm of thieves gets there first.
“This one is pretty clean,” Clay Carrillo-Miranda, of Haltom City’s Best Grease Service, said on his second-to-last stop of the day when he pumped out thick gunk from a container behind the J&J Oyster Bar in Fort Worth. “Some stink so bad you want to throw up. When it’s 105 degrees, this job isn’t a lot of fun, so that’s when I go out at night.”
And after sundown is when the thieves usually strike — and fast.
“You can pull in and drive off in five minutes. It can be $500 a night, $2,500 a week,” said Carrillo-Miranda, 37. “Even if your truck gets impounded, that’s $500. You’re still ahead $2,000 for the week.”
A 15-year veteran of the oil-recycling business, he spends several nights a month on stakeouts behind restaurants that contract with his employer. He has lost count of the locks he’s replaced because of thieves with bolt cutters. His boss, Brian Smith, says a Burleson, Texas, man was caught using the firefighters’ Jaws of Life to break into tanks.
Licensed collectors have used surveillance cameras, extra-heavy metal lids and off-duty cops to protect their routes while lobbying for better local enforcement and stronger state laws. In a sign of how aggressive the grease war has become, a dozen production companies are looking into creating reality-TV episodes.
Chris Griffin, deputy general counsel for Darling International and its Griffin Industries unit, a national recycler, conservatively estimates that 20 percent of its used kitchen grease is stolen each year.
The thefts are fueled in part by growing demand for biodiesel. Darling and Valero opened the country’s largest biodiesel plant last year in Norco, La., with a daily capacity of 142 million gallons. Before, the grease was mainly used for lubricants, soap and animal feed.
When soybean prices spiked because of the drought in 2012, demand for used cooking grease for biofuel production rose, according to a 2013 industry study by IBIS World. The research firm estimated that sales last year reached $1.3 billion, and it predicted annual growth of 1.7 percent through 2018.
The industry has successfully lobbied legislatures in California, Virginia and North Carolina to pass stronger laws against grease theft. In Virginia, any company that buys more than 55 gallons of grease from an unregistered transporter can be fined $5,000.
And it can become a federal crime. In January 2013, Missouri grease dealer Jesse Arnold was sentenced to 10 years in federal prison and required to forfeit $207,817 made from buying oil stolen in Missouri, Oklahoma, Kansas and Arkansas.
“After they started making biodiesel from it, it became a lucrative market,” said Smith, of Best Grease. “From $40 to $50 for a 55-gallon drum of dirty grease, it tripled overnight, hitting a peak of $150, and we’d pay the restaurants half, $75. Years ago, they paid us to take it away.”
Smith said he now receives about $100 a barrel.
“It’s a lucrative business, but the theft can be outrageous,” Smith said. “At times, we lose $500 to $1,000 a week. Some weeks, we’ve had $3,000 worth of grease stolen. It’s hard to patrol 1,200 customers.”
A 2013 New Yorker article on the break-ins — and the ceaseless hands-on efforts to combat them — prompted 12 TV-production companies to express interest in creating reality-TV episodes, said Jon Jaworski, a Houston lawyer who has defended numerous grease-theft suspects in the past 25 years.
Ten of his clients have already signed contracts to participate. How does he know? Jaworski also serves as their agent.
Like many in the trade, Carrillo-Miranda admits that he lifted grease belonging to others early in his career.
“I’ve done it,” he said. “Not something I’m really proud of it.”
He quit that job because he couldn’t face his children, whom he was trying to raise to be upright.
He even spent a few hours in jail when caught once. “You reach a point in life where you have to act like a civilized human being.”
Carrillo-Miranda left the business for a few years, then got an offer to come back, insisting that there would be no thieving.
Still, he understands the lure. “It’s like picking up a $100 bill off the sidewalk. Wouldn’t you do it?”
Today, he’s determined to stop grease theft and is willing to sit hours on stakeouts to protect his boss’s tanks, blocking in thieves with his truck.
“My livelihood is at stake,” Carrillo-Miranda said.