Remembering September 11, 2001

It was a difficult decision to write this post. Should I have just gone on, with business as usual, and posted a recipe? Or, just stay silent? In the kitchen this morning, however, listening to music and hearing recollections, it all came back. And here it is.
Annalena had not been born yet. Recall that her birthday is October 7, 2007. And the blog followed. But in 2001, no such. I was on my way to work - primary day in Manhattan - planning to vote that afternoon after work. To say the day was gorgeous would be an understatement. And work began, business as usual.

Sometime around 9:15, my colleague Leon came to my office "Norman, did you hear anything about something happening downtown?" I hadn't. And then, more people started talking about it: something HORRIBLE had happened. There were words about planes, bombs, the towers. We got a tv, and then we saw it all. None of us knew how to react. I think we all went into a state of conscious shock.

They sent us home, but the subways were closed. My secretary Annette could not get to Brooklyn, nor could her sister. So she and I started off, on foot, to get her sister. And the Guyman, who was working temp in midtown. I remember so clearly that I wished I had worn better shoes that day, because my feet were hurting. We all started the walk to our home- 2 miles or so. People in the street, all too stunned, too shocked, to really take in what had happened. Even when we got home, and turned on the television, or looked out our bedroom window, which had a view of the towers - No, it couldn't be. It wasn't real. I think we were all in more than shock. I pulled the shades down, and they didn't go back up for a month.

The phone calls. The Guyman's sister, calling from JAPAN, in the middle of a typhoon. Were we alright and could we check on her son, our nephew, who lived two blocks from us?

We had no idea. If there is good that came from that day, this is one place it did. We connected to Terran and Amy and then, of course, to their son.

Our sister in law Christel, sobbing from Pennsylvania, that it was just like Germany in World War II. And so it went.

One of the things that people don't mention, but all shake their heads at when reminded, is that one thing that makes us comfortable, or makes us feel safe when this happens, is eating and drinking. It seemed that was all we could do, and we went off to our then favorite watering hole, Nadines. We weren't the only one. The place was packed. Our buddy Angela was waiting tables that day. Just her, and the lunch cooking staff. She, too, stunned, and shocked, and not knowing what had happened. But she got it, probably before any of us did. I know: I was there. I saw her climb up on the bar countertop and announce "Ladies and Gentlemen, put your wallets away, your money is no good here today." So we drank. And we ate. And when we were too tired to do anything else, we went home. The subways were back, for a limited time, so we put Annette and her sister on the train, and went back home and watched the news and tried to make sense of it.

We passed St. Vincent's, where people had lined up to donate blood, before we learned there would be no need for it. Three full circles around the block, including a 90 year old woman who said "I did it for WWII, I did it for Korea and I'll do it NOW." Yet another reason why I love living in the Village.

Many will write better accounts of the day than I can. I remember the after. The smell. The dust. The wondering "will they deliver the mail today?" I remember the first farmers market after it, with the farmers grabbing me, hugging, crying "thank God, you're alive and ok. Is Guy?" I think things changed that day, in ways that words cannot express.

Ruth Reichl, who was then editor of "Gourmet," wrote a memorable piece. This is an excerpt from it:


Here at Gourmet, we cooked. It was what we knew how to do. [Though the Conde Nast Building was closed], the thought of those eight test kitchens sitting empty was unbearable--rescue workers were laboring around the clock, and we wanted to feed them....We cooked, knowing that we were doing it as much for ourselves as for the workers, out of a strong desire...to be of use in a terrible time.

On the third day of the disaster, we made lasagna, chili, and apple crisps. And we carried the food right into "ground zero," where the smell of chili triumphed momentarily over the smell of smoke.

Is the chili hot?" asked one fireman. He sat down in the debris and wearily picked up a spoon. "Tastes like my wife's," he said, closing his eyes. "You've brought me a little bit of home."

Relief efforts sprang up, right away. I remember the telethon. Sting. Tom Cruise. Alec Baldwin. Many others, answering phones as we all donated money.

And we cooked here, too. Lots of pasta, for a lot of people. But not for the first few nights. I almost couldn't move, and for one of the few times in my life, I could not face the kitchen. But people needed to eat, and the restaurant, the food community, responded. Judy Rodgers, of Zuni in San Francisco, wrote of how the only thing that kept the restaurant opened after that day, was their 5.00 bowl of polenta. Yeah, I get that. We all ate a lot of starch and wondered what would happen next.

They told us "go on with your life," and we tried. God, did we try. My friend Terry couldn't. She left the United States and moved to Germany with her boyfriend. Other people did similar things. Guyman and I went on. And we formed stronger bonds with our friends. And we didn't forget, ever.

One year later, September 11, 2002, I remember empty streets, as my colleague Jane, her husband, Roger, Guy and I walk empty streets to Grand Central Station for dinner, before a program of short works, written to remember the event. I recall Julia Margolies, and her monologue "hands," about a fireman's hands. And weeping. And the very last work: one about Petit's travelling across the towers, in a world that seems so far away now.

It's ten years later. Annette has gone somewhere else, I don't know where. Leon is at another law firm, as am I. Angela is a mom, with triplets. Our nephew and his wife live in Washington state, and we keep in touch. Nadine's is closed. Jane and Roger's daughters, so young then, are now young women, in college and finishing high school. And we go on. We remember. And I have never forgotten Ms. Reichl's piece.