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Issue Date: March 24, 2002
Spring Food Issue
Now we're really cooking
When our contributing editor and CookSmart columnist visited a firehouse, she found the line between family and friends increasingly blurred. What's important is to break bread with those who matter most. Good things happen when a meal is shared.
By Pam Anderson
Trenton N.J. Engine No. 3 and Ladder No. 2. Eating togther every night brings us closer. (From left: Robert Fannng, Capt. Paul Tweedly, Robert Ford, Capt. Mike Jones and Rich Kosztyu.) -- Photo by Deborah Feingold.
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Of the hundreds of 9/11 newspaper obituaries I read in the fall and winter, firefighter Gerard T. Nevins' stuck with me. According to the men at Rescue 1 in midtown Manhattan: "Nevins was a keeper of traditional values. He was an 18-year veteran of the department who vehemently opposed ordering takeout food because he thought cooking together helped cement the brothers' bond."
As a cook, I share Nevins' convictions. Through the years, my family's daily dinner ritual has held us together through more than I know. I also believe that dinner has the power to create family and community, whether the gathered are blood relatives, business colleagues or newfound friends. Simply put: Good things almost always happen when people share a meal.
After reading Nevins' obituary, I decided to interview a company of firemen about the bond that develops through cooking and eating together. I chose the Trenton (N.J.) Engine Company No. 3 and Ladder Company No. 2. I knew I'd picked the right group when Capt. (and cook) Mike Jones suggested I come for an interview and a meal.
From the start, it's clear these guys are family. While Jones dexterously chops peppers and onions for home fries and slices venison roll (a breakfast meat brought in by Rich Kosztyu, an avid hunter), the others read the paper, watch TV and casually chat. But as soon as Jones puts on a pot of water to poach eggs, the mood changes. Without a word, Capt. Paul Tweedly grabs the toaster oven as Kosztyu tosses him the English muffins and heads to the sink to get a start on dirty dishes.
At breakfast, we eat in shifts as the eggs get done, but Jones says dinner is different. They all sit down together. As Jones pulls the last egg from the water, it's his turn to relax. Rule No. 1: The cook never cleans. As Jones sits, the remaining firemen move to the kitchen area. There's no conversation about who does what, but it's clear everyone knows his job. Just as they do in the line of duty, they work in seamless unity until the kitchen's clean.
"Being a fireman is stressful," Jones acknowledges. "You're often woken from a sound sleep at 4 in the morning or right as you're about to sit down for dinner. Sometimes you arrive on the scene to people climbing out of windows. There's a stress to the job that most don't have."
"But," Tweedly says with a laugh, "a well-fed fireman is a happy fireman, and eating together night after night brings us closer together."
Todd Fell adds: "Even if you're having a bad day, everything changes at dinner. It's a time where we get stuff off our chest, and we talk -- just like a family."
The bonding effects of family dinner are equally strong among the restaurant family. My friend Gabrielle Hamilton, chef-owner of Prune in New York City, so believes in the importance of a staff dinner at her restaurant that she now prepares it herself. She stepped in after the usually menial task of cooking "family meal" (as it's called in the restaurant business) had passed down through the ranks until the food quality had sunk to the morale-destroying level of leftovers served from a skillet.
Preparing family meal for her staff, Hamilton says, is like preparing family dinner at home. She makes simple, economical dishes -- soups and pasta -- but with care and creativity. She takes time to arrange the food on platters and garnish it, too. "It's amazing what a little chopped parsley and a few lemon wedges can do," she says. "The staff is so appreciative, and it's such an ego boost for me."
As everyone gathers for dinner, the typical divisions between front-of-the-house (wait staff) and back-of-the-house (cooks and dishwashers) disappear. Busboys catch up with waitresses; cooks josh with the bartender. Hamilton is gratified to see her staff sitting down and talking to one another before the evening rush. She knows it's what they all need to get through the night.
We talk about "family dinner," but sometimes -- as I learned a few weeks ago -- it's the dinner that makes the family. My older daughter, Maggy, was home on college break. On her last night home, she brought a friend for dinner. Maggy's friend is smart but didn't make it to college; her mother's in jail, and she lives with her father and a younger brother and sister. She wants a better life, but there's no one to help her through the system.
I had been hoping for an intimate family dinner that night with my husband and two daughters. (Besides, I had only four chicken breasts.) Later, I was glad I had stretched our dinner and included this young woman.
At first, my husband and I gingerly inquired about her life, but as the food did its work, we all relaxed. She was eager for advice, and we talked about saving money (including stories of our own financial blunders) and writing college applications. She learned something about preparing for her future, and we grew in admiration for her remarkable determination. Conversations like that don't often happen in the living room; they happen when people sit down and break bread together.
Dinner doesn't necessarily have to be pleasant to be good. Sometimes it's the only time of day to schedule a fight. A few nights ago, my 16-year-old, Sharon, left the dinner table in a huff. She had just gotten her driver's license and wasn't in the mood to be told how to enjoy her new freedom and get her homework done. Sitting down together brought the conflict to a head, and the span of dinner made the argument possible. You need that in a relationship. The argument didn't last long, and I'd like to believe dinner gave us the chance to solve a family problem with relative calm and speed. Serving her favorite (Caesar salad) didn't hurt either.
Any gathering constitutes a family, in a way. A single friend of mine dines alone a few nights, but she uses restaurants and various groups of friends to create her dinner ritual the rest of the week. And as my husband and I make the transition from active parents to empty nesters, we find ourselves looking for other families with whom to share a meal. One of our groups, called Simply Sundays, consists of five couples -- two gay and three straight. We pride ourselves on the utter simplicity of the dinner, and those who host don't cook. Of the four remaining couples, one brings an hors d'oeuvre, one makes a salad, one cooks a one-pot main course and one brings dessert (store-bought ice cream is totally acceptable). As with most family suppers, everyone gets a plate, a glass and only the necessary silverware to enjoy the meal. If our plates need cleaning between courses, we grab a hunk of bread. The pressure to simplify rather than impress is refreshing, and we all find getting together much more fun.
As with any good habit, the benefits of daily dining with family are immediate (we need to eat) and long-term (we need solid, lasting relationships). Firefighter Nevins was right: Sharing a meal together -- whether it's blood kin, work partners or good friends -- seals the bond.
Nevins' firehouse philosophy also warmed his home. His widow, Marie, says their children thought anything he cooked was delicious. He told them why: "It has lots of love in it."
Contributing Editor Pam Anderson, who writes USA WEEKEND Magazine's monthly CookSmart column, has a new book out in May. It, too, is titled "CookSmart" (Houghton-Mifflin, $28). Anderson's previous books are the acclaimed "The Perfect Recipe" and "How to Cook Without a Book".
Photo by Deborah Feingold for USA WEEKEND.
Also this week:
 Holiday ham and lamb: Pam Anderson's no-fail advice for cooking these crowd pleasers
Firehouse traditions, sharing a meal
Win free dinnerware
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