Memories from the past.

We Will never Forget.

I had just moved back to NYC as an adult that summer, with my full intentions on becoming the best chef I could be. After some pavement pounding and a brief stage at Union pacific, (one id care to forget mind you, still the most brutal, hateful, high octane kitchen I’ve ever worked) I landed the sous chef gig at the new sister restaurant to Chicama, a place called Pipa.

I'd be moved up rather quickly, and spent most of my limited time off work eating and drinking my way around Manhattan, and considering my career choice, this forced me to do so into the wee hours of the morning.

I woke that morning to the sound of the third call to my landline (yes we had those at home back then) with my high school sweetheart leaving me a message I foggily deciphered from my pillow. When I finally heard the fourth set of rings, I rolled over and picked up, only to hear her say “Are you home? You need to turn on your TV, NOW.”

What I saw next was the news coverage of now the second plane hitting the towers.

I rushed to my 6th-floor rooftop to catch a glimpse of what was actually happening, only to find a dark plume of smoke on the skyline of Manhattan from across the east river.

I called my Oma and Opa up the street and made sure they were ok, and headed there (They had cable) . after a few hours of standing idle by watching as the towers collapsed, I knew I had to do something. I gave my Oma a hug and said I needed to check in on work; she wearily said: “Don’t do anything stupid like try to go to Manhattan, they're not letting anybody in.” which of course I completely disobeyed.

I spent the rest of that day on the Queens side of the 59th st bridge, watching and helping the thousands of people on foot pouring into Long Island City. I watched as hardened thugs would help little old ladies with canes, and even suited indifferent bankers help distribute water from bubbler jugs.

The next day, I had planned on fully going into work to see what was necessary to do, we did not open and I was unable to get anywhere past Canal St. a bit discouraged, I rode my bike to the Westside Highway to see about volunteering myself for anything needed.

Coming from a strong Irish Catholic Family from Queens, that themselves were ore are emergency responders at some point in their lives, (god bless you Grandpa) I felt I needed to do something. Unfortunately, they were only accepting registered responders. I returned to the borough of Queens via the 59thst bridge, which still had droves of people walking over.

I got the call from work that night that we would maybe open, and agreed to be part of the crew to open up. The next morning I trained my bike in and walked it to work from the 23rd st station on Park av.

The next 24 hrs turned into a profound impact on my professional career, one that still lives with me to this day.

I arrived at work around 8:45 am, where I ran into my Chef De cuisine, Raymond Mohan. He proceeded to direct me to make sure all the food we were donating was going to the right place. Eighteen stops and a traffic directing Drew Nieporent in Tribeca later, we were breaking into the school on Chambers and Greenwich St. to get tables for the hundreds of trays of food we had picked up ready and serve the rescue teams leaving the now officially named Ground Zero.

The most impactful moment for me was scooping a giant ladleful of our restaurant's signature arroz con pollo on a paper plate, alongside a fully plated chocolate dessert from I believe Gotham Grill. The first firefighter with his arm outstretched, covered in dust and air of despair said thank you to me, and when his eyes came up from the plate I handed to him, he looked at me and a small upturn came to his face.

“Thank you, we’ve been on power bars and Gatorade for the last few days, this is amazing!” He proceeded to put his plate down, remove his helmet, and shudder into tears.

That day, with the backdrop of the carcass of World Trade Center 7 silhouetted behind us, and the smoldering blocks of the towers framed behind was the moment I knew I had found where I could actually help.

We stayed late until the food ran out, and I went home that night knowing I helped make a difference in the lives of the people helping us all recover.

I will never forget.