My late brother Bob was an incredible cook, particularly when it came to Italian food. He spent so much time at the stove, his proclivities earned him the nickname “Meatball.” I spent many a Saturday or Sunday watching him at the stove, carefully rolling out each meatball, then rolling each again before it went into the oil. The smell would fill the house, beckoning me like a wanton lover.

When meatballs were on the menu I was never far away; this was a necessity, as I had to strike at the perfect moment. You might say I have a “thing” for meatballs, but with seven kids in the family, rations were pretty strict. I also like my meatballs without sauce, so if I wanted to sneak one, I had to do it between the time they came out of the frying pan and went into the pot of sauce. The moment my brother turned his back I would spring, grabbing a scorching hot meatball and running for the bathroom, where I would lock myself in and blow on the meatball to cool it and savor each second of its ambrosia-like qualities. Sometimes I was too hasty, and spent the next couple of days with a burnt tongue.

The batch I made today brought me to what I’m calling Meatball Nirvana. The texture and flavor were PERFECTION. Since many people have requested the recipe over the years, I thought it was time to share.

This recipe comes from my Gramma Crucciti (dad’s mother), and there are two important secrets: (1) you must use stale bread; and (2) you must not be squeamish. The only way to ensure the meatballs taste good is to sample the raw mix before it goes into the frying pan. You only need a little pinch to taste. The rest is easy, but a lot of the measuring needs to be done on-the-fly, as your taste preferences may differ from mine. Play with the recipe until you get the flavors where you want them.

Actually, there is a third secret: These must be made with love, and so much of it, it fills the kitchen. It improves the taste ten-fold.

Ingredients

2 lbs chopped meat (no more than 80% lean — embrace the fat, it tastes good)
Equal amount of stale Italian bread (approximately 1 1/2 large loaves for 2 lbs meat)
1 egg
1-2 cups Pecorino Romano cheese, finely grated, to taste
2 cloves garlic, finely chopped or pressed
1 Tbsp parsley, finely chopped

Vegetable oil for cooking

Preparation

Prepare the bread:
Soak the stale bread in a large bowl of water until the bread is completely soft. Break the bread apart in large chunks, removing the crust. Squeeze each chunk with your hands to get as much of the water out as possible and set aside on a plate.

[Chef’s Notes: It is important that you have a 1:1 ratio of bread to chopped meat to achieve the proper texture. Please do not substitute bread crumbs for the squeezed bread, as you will get nowhere near the same results in texture.]

Prepare the meatball mix:
Add the bread to the chopped meat and mix together by hand, squeezing to ensure an even distribution of bread throughout. Add 1 cup of the Pecorino Romano, then the remaining ingredients and mix my hand. Taste a pinch of the mixture to see if the flavors are to your taste. Add more cheese if necessary.

Roll the meatballs:
Using a spoon or your fingers, take a scoop of the mixture and roll it between your palms to form the meatball. (The size is entirely up to you, but a soup spoon usually makes a good guide.) Place the raw meatballs on a large platter in a single layer.

Fry the meatballs:
Half-fill a large saute or cast-iron pan with vegetable oil. Heat under high heat until the oil shimmers. Carefully add the meatballs, re-rolling them if they have fallen out of shape. Fry until a solid brown crust has formed on the bottom half of the meatballs, about 4 minutes, then flip over with a metal slotted spoon. Cook for another 4 minutes. (You can remove one and cut it in half at this point to make sure it’s fully cooked.) Remove to a plate or bowl lined with paper towels to drain the grease.

[Chef’s Notes: You can also use a deep-fryer to make these, but you must be careful to load the basket in a single layer at a time or the meatballs will stick together.

You might be inclined to use olive oil for cooking the meatballs, but I don’t recommend it. It imparts an additional layer of flavor that is not necessarily ideal, and doesn’t play well at high temperatures.]

If you’ve made a pot of sauce (I’ll save that for another recipe), add the meatballs to the sauce and mangia!

I’m so very happy to say that my inner sensualist and my mental mouth are fully engaged, rocking in my kitchen, and once again delighted by flavor, texture and color.

It’s good to be home.

With that, I’ve explored what the next level is for me, and I’m so proud to introduce what’s next. Take a look here — and join me.

2013 has been quite a year of metamorphosis; I’ve taken a good look at what I’m creating in the world, and checked in with myself to see if all the pieces fit. I had no idea what huge changes that moment of questioning would bring.

For the past 25 years, I’ve lived and breathed the world of food and wine, and have achieved milestones that would blow away a lot of “foodies”. I’ve supped 150-year-old Grand Marnier in Paris with Paul Bocuse. Cooked a dish on the line for fun at Le Bernardin. Been Charlie Trotter’s guest at the chef’s table at Ducasse in Paris. I talked the “local” phenomenon with Thomas Keller before it was a buzzword, and sampled the various buns being considered for the debut of the db burger — New York’s first luxe hamburger. I even helped to produce the James Beard Awards (the food “Oscars”), and was running the international culinary programs for Relais & Chateaux by the age of 30. This was before I co-founded the world’s first food podcast channel, the Culinary Media Network, with Chef Mark Tafoya. And for the last decade, he and I have traveled the world creating video and audio programs about farmers, winemakers, and chefs of every variety. I was invited to speak in Vienna, at Harvard a few times, and was featured in a GoDaddy commercial. And last year I got a little giggle when I was called a “culinary guru” in the documentary Eat. Cook. Love.

I say all of that not to boast — though I’m exceedingly proud of every item above. Rather, I’m asking myself: What’s left to do?

As many of you know, I started a project called Zenfully Delicious to cope with a world suddenly filled with food allergies and physical limitations, but I found even that was not enough. Yes, we’re helping people, but we’re barely scratching the surface. I want something that will impact the entire globe, and I’ve started looking at the legacy I want to leave on this earth. It has something to do with food, health, economic development and the giant gap that exists on the planet, and the idea first started forming in my head when I wrote my first article for ONE.org: A Tale of Two Women.

Now, that idea is so big, I don’t even know what the idea is yet. When I outlined it to my new friends at the U.S. Department of State, they gave me a long look and suggested I go build a coalition. That’s going to take some time — and likely the rest of my life.

So what happens between now and then?

Here’s the fun part: Before I had a career in food, I was an entrepreneur. I’ve been one from the age of 8 when I started my first business (by the way, NEVER trust 8-year-old customers with IOUs — you’ll never get paid!).

And my companion on this roller coaster ride of entrepreneurship is one Jennifer Kushell, who I met at 21, and who has since become one of my closest friends on this planet. We’ve been through all of it together — every moment of doubt and failure an entrepreneur can live through. Along with bubbles. Crashes. Funding. Bootstrapping. (That’s us below at BlogWorld Expo in 2009 – our 15th anniversary girlie getaway!)

And now, a vision of the future.

I joined Jen this summer to launch the first 100-country contest: the Subway Global Challenge. And as we sat in the State Department talking with Caron de Mars, the head of the Global Entrepreneurship Program, I realized THIS was what I needed to do next: Clear the way for the next generation so they can create even more than my fellow Gen X innovators did.

I’ve also spent many years wanting to work with global programs, the UN and world leaders, so all of that has come full circle as I have joined Jennifer’s company, YSN, as the Chief Operations Officer. I get to build, create, and bring her vision to life (and tell everybody what to do! Win!).

At YSN we’re preparing governments, organizations and corporations for the next generation. They are like nothing we’ve ever seen — and that’s not as frightening as it sounds. They are actually magnificent, and we need to discard the outmoded rules that won’t serve the world they now live in. I have more to say on that here, as well as some background on my own entrepreneurial journey.

We’re even building a Global Opportunity Marketplace to connect ambitious young people from around the world with opportunities they might never find otherwise. So if you are a food or travel company reading this, please send your opportunities to us so we can find you the very best talent!

So this is a very exciting time, and I can’t wait to see what the next few years will bring. And while I will never leave the world of food and wine, I am absolutely delighted that I can now enjoy it as a passionate hobby, and dabble here when I have time, while I help to change the world for the entrepreneurs to come. Out of that, I know I’ll find the answer for the big food questions simmering in my head.

Thank you for being here with me all along the journey. Next year is the 10th anniversary of this site, so let’s see what fun we can have. Game on!

***

I’ve had two women on my mind lately. They are counterpoints; polar ends of a spectrum whose very existence is difficult to reconcile.

Each woman is fighting a battle — to the death — on her own end of the spectrum. And though one of them faces a matter of critical urgency, the other presents a glimpse of the future which we cannot ignore.

Let us call woman #1 “Adowa”. She lives in a developing country where starvation is a very real possibility, and where every day that ends with some form of nourishment for Adowa and her family is a victory; a triumph over death.

Let’s call woman #2 “Heather”. She lives in a modern society where food is plentiful, and career and family demand a lot of her. She’s wearing down her body, which is tantamount to a time bomb that is primed and ready to set off a chronic illness when stress and unhealthy eating become too much for her system to bear. Heather’s lifestyle will kill her one day, and that day will likely come way too soon.

Now, it would be easy to stop right here and profess that we cannot equivocate one situation with the other. I agree. There are choices available to Heather that are not conscious — or even imaginable — possibilities for Adowa.

My reason for taking a closer look at these two women, however, goes beyond moral equivocation. It is a look at the future, and poses the question of just how long it will take for Adowa and her sisters to internalize problems just like Heather’s, and how we can take responsibility now to prevent that from happening.

This might seem like an academic argument.

There is no denying that starvation is a fierce and deadly enemy; its effects are quite immediate and visible, and saving lives must be the priority.

But we must also stop for a moment and look at the catastrophic numbers that surround chronic illness. While developed lands and modern societies offer plenty of food innovations that will shuffle us down our mortal coil, 50% of us will shuffle in misery from chronic pain, diabetes, obesity, or any number of their co-morbid conditions.

1 out of 2 people. It’s you or me.

There are no easy answers; it’s difficult even to grasp what the right questions might be. It’s hard to justify pausing to examine a non-fatal condition like fibromyalgia, which tends to be triggered in the mid-30s, when those in food-insecure regions will be lucky to see their 30th birthdays.

And yet we must examine it.

From a 40,000-foot view, it looks morally irresponsible to pass along the diseases of our development when we know they are avoidable. We are slowly watching as waistlines expand in every developed country, watching as cancer rates are soaring.

Heather — and many “modern women”, really — have failed, in a certain capacity, at the game of life. We worked too many hours and didn’t pay attention to our bodies; we made unhealthy food choices that drove our systems to overload. And now in our state of chronic illness, the physical pain is sometimes awful and the economic costs are in the billions. But what are those things when compared to a crisis like imminent starvation?

If I was Heather, standing face-to-face with Adowa, what would I say after ensuring her immediate needs were met? “Embrace the future, but not too much! That stuff will kill you!”

I don’t mean to be flippant about something so serious, but the constructs of these two women keep me up at night. The challenges they pose are so huge, how on earth can we serve both in a way that works?

What are the questions to ask? What are the measures to put in place? What is there to teach? These are the very things I’m setting out to explore and, hopefully, answer.

I lie awake at night with my wheels turning because I want to see Adowa flourish and achieve — and I don’t want to see her come all that way, only to end up in a state of long, drawn-out suffering that can be avoided. I want to see Heather manage her life and health powerfully, for her to create a different outcome for herself and a future free of chronic illness for the next generation.

I lie awake because I am Heather.

And when I’m in line at the supermarket, watching piles of junk food sail down the conveyor belt, I want to grab every person by the shoulders and say “WE CAN DO BETTER THAN THIS!”

It’s why the process has to start with me; I’m the one carrying the warning flags, and I will wave them like a madwoman until there is a different outcome. Because we can do better for Adowa and Heather — and it’s going to take a certain kind of honesty, self-reflection and personal responsibility that have fallen out of fashion.

I’m OK with making those things trendy again. Are you?

***

Take action with ONE now. Urge world leaders to make measurable commitments to fight chronic malnutrition for 25 million children by 2016 by signing our petition here.

Though I would love to be indulgently pampering myself with a spa day right now, the very thought of such a luxury seems sadly far off. Having said that, my soul and skin need a little rejuvenation every now and then to keep the stress at bay.

For me, there’s nothing more sensually satisfying than baby-soft skin, and there are lots of ways to achieve this right at home. Here’s a little secret: Chefs swear by olive oil and kosher salt for exfoliating hands.

In the same vein, but a bit more delicate, is a scrub I use for my face: olive oil and table sugar. You only need a little of each to make a paste, and after delicately scrubbing your face with the mixture you’ll be left with silky smooth cheeks. And as a moisturizer it can’t be beaten.

Since I only use good olive oil in the kitchen, my face is treated to some extra-virgin goodness. What could be bad about that? :)

I’ve been experimenting with various home treatments, so I’d love to hear about your successes with them. Do you have any favorites?

As I review the flavor profiles, my mental mouth is hard at work to determine what I think will work, and what I might like to tweak. So I thought this was a good time to talk more in depth about this phrase to which I’m constantly referring.

When I talk about the “mental mouth,” I mean your little inner chef, who goes to work when you are hungry, or are planning a meal. He’s the one who calls to you when you’re craving something like honey-roasted figs stuffed with whipped blue cheese and pine nuts, or who takes stock of your fridge’s ingredients and says, “We’re having a Gruyere omelette with sauteed onions, a side salad with honey Dijon vinaigrette and grilled bread.”

He’s also the one who craves things at the most inconvenient times, like homemade Chinese dumplings at 2 AM. (Incidentally, my brother Phil, whose palate blows mine away, will get up and indulge that craving. His dumplings are some of the best I’ve ever tasted.)

That little inner chef is the keeper of food memories. The storer of flavor profiles.  The master of indulgences. And the more you exercise him — by tasting, exploring, sniffing, touching — the more skilled he becomes. After many years of training, I can now confidently open any fridge and plan a meal (except for Chef Mark’s, which has little to work with but bottles of foreign ingredients I can’t decipher). For example, if I see eggs, flour, cream and some vegetables, it’s time for pasta primavera accented with whatever herbs and spices I have to work with.

Sometimes the mental mouth can fool us. It can say “Yes! Try the abc with the xyz!” — and it’s a disaster. Sometimes it’s a win — think dark chocolate-dipped bacon.

The mental mouth is what has led us to evolve as a cooking and eating species. It has created the winning flavor combinations of lime, cilantro, chile and beef, or pasta, Pecorino Romano cheese, butter and truffle shavings. Someone had to take a risk — and we get to benefit. The more you taste, the more data you store in that inner chef’s recipe files, so when you stumble upon the perfect tomato he goes to work. Do you want to eat that juicy ruby with citrusy cilantro or spicy basil? With red onions or sweet white ones? Alone or with some bread?

As you develop his repertoire, you can then look at a dish named Beef medallion with celery root puree, confit garlic foam and spiced port reduction and give it a “Hell, yes.” Right now my inner chef is dancing in the combination of the delicate celery root and sweet garlic foam, knowing a little punch will come from the spicy reduction, all blending together perfectly with the richness of the beef. I can taste it in my head.

So if you want to develop your own little inner chef, start paying closer attention when you eat. See how the flavors play on your tongue, and your palate. Take note of what specifically you like about the flavor or texture. Do avocados make your tongue sing with their delicate, silky texture? Do you like the way noodles feel as they slide down your throat? Does the smell of fresh oregano make you swoon? The world is your laboratory. Go play.

And yes, I’m serving that beef dish at the event.

Photo: Kelly Cline

This recipe was created during our first year of The Gilded Fork, crafted by Donna Marie Desfor. The basil and orange combination is like sunshine screaming in your mouth, so it’s the perfect taste of summer.

NOTE: If you are gluten-free, skip the cinnamon tuiles. If you are lactose intolerant or dairy-free, you can substitute the cream with 3 cups of full-fat coconut milk (canned).

recipe: basil & orange ice cream with cinnamon tuiles

Serves 8

Ingredients

3 cups heavy cream
1 vanilla bean pod, split
6 fresh large basil leaves, coarsely torn or chopped
Zest of ½ orange
2/3 cup sugar

Preparation

Place a large, heavy-bottomed saucepan over medium heat. Combine the cream, vanilla, and basil to the pot. Gently warm the cream over the heat, but do not let it come to a boil. Remove the saucepan from the heat when the mixture is just coming to a simmer: you should see steam rising from the surface and small bubbles forming along the edges. Add the sugar and the orange zest, and stir until combined. Remove from the heat, set aside and allow the mixture to infuse while cooling to room temperature.

Optional: Strain into a clean container. Cover and refrigerate for at least 2 hours until cold, or overnight.

Stir the chilled mixture and then freeze in an ice cream maker according to manufacturer’s directions. Transfer ice cream to a container and freeze until solid, about 2 hours. Remove to the refrigerator to “cure” about 20 minutes before serving.

Cinnamon Tuiles

Tuiles are thin, crisp cookies that are meant to imitate the shape of a French roof tile. While the “classic” preparation is to drape the hot tuiles over a rolling pin to shape them, you can get adventurous and use underside of a muffin tin to form a cup.

Makes approx. 2 dozen (24) tuiles

Ingredients

4 tablespoons butter at room temperature
2 egg whites
½ cup flour
2/3 cup confectioners’ sugar
Scant 1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon vanilla

Preparation

Preheat the oven to 350˚ F. Line two cookie sheets with parchment paper.

In a medium bowl, combine the butter and egg whites with a whisk. Whisk until smooth. In a larger bowl, combine the flour, confectioners’ sugar, and cinnamon. Add the wet ingredients to the dry and whisk until smooth. Add the vanilla and whisk until well combined.

Using an offset spatula, drop one tablespoon of the batter onto the prepared cookie sheet and spread very thin to form about a 6” diameter circle. The batter will look translucent in some spots. Repeat spacing each tuile about 3” apart.

Bake each cookie sheet separately for about 6 to 8 minutes, until the edges are just beginning to brown. Remove the cookies from the oven. Working quickly, drape the hot cookies over a rolling pin or the side of an empty wine bottle, making sure they do not touch. Once the cookies are firm, transfer to a wire cooling rack and cool completely.

Prepare the other cookie sheet for baking while the first is in the oven. Repeat. Make sure the cookie sheet is cool before spreading the next round of batter on it.

Recipe originally published in August 2005 on gildedfork.com.

Recipe by Donna Marie Desfor
Photo: Kelly Cline

One year ago I went gluten-free in an effort to get my fibromyalgia symptoms under a semblance of control. After asking my online community for holistic approaches, I’ve received tremendous support from NFCA and the gluten-free community at large. What a wonderful, loving group of people you all are. I’ve learned oodles about reading labels and educating others, and get so much out of encouraging people with aches and pains to give it a try for themselves. My brother has recovered by leaps and bounds from his various conditions, and the catalyst was seeing my results, so all of your efforts have had a multiplier effect, not the least of which is my new project, Zenfully Delicious. I love when that happens.

I wish I could say that making one change in my diet resulted in a complete turnaround of my health, but alas, there are yet miles to go. Immediately after eliminating the gluten, I was soaring. My body felt great, my skin was lovely, and the pounds were melting off. However, I always let the stress get the best of me, and sometimes the road feels endless.  I’ll save that for the fibromyalgia post.

Avoiding gluten has definitely improved things, however. I’ve learned that it has a significant effect on my body, from swelling (think Violet Beauregard) to mood swings and skin reactions. To better understand this, and to be of any help to you, I’ve used myself as a guinea pig over the past 12 months, because after finding myself terrified to dine anywhere but home, I realized the gluten fear was starting to rule my life, and that just would not do. So I experimented with low levels to see how much my body could tolerate before bad things happened, and discovered that a small dose is manageable. This alleviates the panic of discovering that I’ve taken a few bites of something dredged in flour, or the fear of ordering something that may have been fried in the same oil as breaded food. I experience some swelling, but the reaction doesn’t take me out.

Of course, as I am wont to do, I took experimentation to the extreme over the Christmas holidays, from pasta to cookies and bread, and that was not a good idea. I was in bed for a few days reminding myself not to do that any more. Ever. But because humans can be dumb animals, I also indulged while I was in Vienna earlier this year. At a 5-star Relais Gourmand restaurant, they rolled out a bread cart. I mean, come on! It had at least 20 kinds of bread, beckoning to me like sirens from a world of crusty fantasy and crumb-coated dreams. Olive bread, lavender and honey bread, pretzel bread…lust.

Unfortunately, I was already in the midst of heavy stress, so the past few months have been something from my nightmares (hence my lack of posts). I’ve learned that if I’m not in optimal shape in other areas — calm, implementing regular fitness, sleeping well — the gluten serves as a kind of systemic atom bomb. I’m chalking this up as tuition, and setting up systems to pull all of the other areas of my life into alignment.

Now, mileage varies with gluten intolerance, so if you are new to this, or unsure, don’t take my word for it. For some, even one bite causes migraines, hives, or an extreme reaction requiring an Epi pen. This is where the National Foundation for Celiac Awareness comes in. They are doing a magnificent job whether you are a gluten-free veteran, someone in the inquiry, or a restaurant owner looking to train your staff. Here’s a great look at where they’re headed.

I’ve committed myself to posting again on a regular basis, no matter what I’m feeling like, because I realize that my silence isn’t helping anyone — least of all myself. Last time I broke the silence it led to huge breakthroughs in my health, so I’m climbing back on that train, because I like where it was headed.

Now my question to you: Have you gone gluten-free? If so, why, and what has been your experience? What are you struggling with, or what sense of freedom have you found?

12 months later, I sit here with an entirely different existence than what I had envisioned. And for that, I’m grateful. This has been the most extraordinary, challenging, adventurous, soul-enriching year of my life to date, and with that has come catharsis. Since lots of people post their lists of things at the end of the year, this time I’ll play. Here are the 5 major things I learned in 2010:

1. It doesn’t have to look a certain way.
I was always a planner. A perfectionist. An unrelenting taskmaster, mostly toward myself, in creating what I thought was the life that would make me happy. It had to look a certain way, with particular parameters, and anything less was complete and utter failure. There was no room for me the person — just for the tasks that kept me running on the hamster wheel. And that is what led me, in part, to a chronic illness (see #4). Now I’m learning to simply be, and use the planning as a guideline with room for adjustments along the way. There is much more freedom, creativity and well-being in that.

2. People are inherently good.
When my apartment was robbed back in April, I thought the very worst of humanity. In the midst of my devastation, and in fact on the same day, humanity — you — showed up to prove otherwise. I am still blown away by the fact that YOU replaced my stolen laptop, which to this day moves me to the point of tears. I’ve spent the rest of the year crafting new projects that will help others with the challenges they face, and created Zenfully Delicious to put that in motion.

3. Manage the process, not the person, and get out of the way.
Up until August or so, I was still trying to do it all by myself. The Lone Ranger was exhausted, wondering why nothing was moving forward. Turns out it was because said Ranger (me) was standing in the way. Then I began the Team Management & Leadership Program offered by Landmark Education — it’s essentially entrepreneurial boot camp — and saw that every management “skill” I was trying to use was only causing me to spin in circles. Now I am stretching myself to my entrepreneurial limits, learning things that business schools never even touch upon, and hey, things are moving forward in grander ways than I ever imagined. Where I was once overwhelmed by 1 company and side work in web design, I now have 3 companies with teams of people to make them run efficiently. I got out of the way, and am mastering the skills to make myself the most effective leader possible. I am diving into the uncomfortable, and the ride is never dull! But being willing to dive into the uncomfortable has opened doors to things like being asked to keynote my first conference next year. In Vienna.

4. Don’t sweat the small stuff. No, really.
I’ve been doing a little research, and it has become ridiculously apparent to me that stress is the leading factor for our nation’s health problems. I am a living case study in the subject. Since discovering I needed to go gluten-free to get my fibromyalgia under control, I’ve looked at all areas of my life where stress plays a role. It should win an Oscar. My new outlook, and I’m getting better at it every day, involves taking on a sense of peacefulness and well-being every single day. I’ve managed to keep that state of being intact even after getting “glutened” in a restaurant, and had nary a symptom. I’m learning just how much the mind affects the body, and just how much say I have in that.

5. You can have everything you want.
The real question is, who are you willing to be to have it? Note I did not say “What are you willing to do?” The doing is just the busy work; it’s who we are that inspires (or repels) people to play with us and help bring our vision to life. This week I was able to check off a bucket list item, as I got a last-second invitation to the Prince concert at Madison Square Garden. Everywhere I turn, great things are coming into my life, because I invite people to play in my world with me. My commitment to those willing to play is that they get even more out of that than I do. And I get a lot.

So those are the broad strokes for this year. I’ve already got things rolling for 2011, with the biggest project I have ever undertaken, and I am chomping at the bit to get it in motion. So 2010 — and the years going forward — will best be summed up, when I am old and reflecting upon them, by the following:

Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well-preserved body—but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming, ‘Wow, what a ride!’
– Anonymous

Oh my, yes. I wish you the very best in 2011, and cannot wait to see where the road takes us. Thank you for being a fellow traveler!

Love,
Jennifer

It has really struck me how many people there are in search of answers and relief, and I’ve pulled together a fantastic team to take on that mission. We are addressing a range of chronic illnesses, from Fibromyalgia and Celiac to Irritable Bowel Syndrome, Diabetes and all of their siblings. We love that a holistic approach is possible for all of them, and offers an alternative to medications that can sometimes do more harm than good (I am a living case study for that). The site is free for right now, but we will unveil a membership program in the coming months comprising menu planning, health & lifestyle coaching and great content from our contributors.

This is a very exciting time, and I really hope we can help to make a difference. It makes my soul smile to know that it’s possible thanks to technology and the spirit of the team with which I’ve surrounded myself. I hope you will join us on a journey to wellness.

I backed out of my parking spot so fast I almost hit an oncoming car, and drove home with the pedal floored to see what in hell was happening. The rest played out before my eyes. The phone began to ring off the hook as relatives called from Australia and Scotland. Every time I answered the phone, my friends and family members burst into tears. They didn’t know I was home.

My first reaction was to try and find a way to get into the city. My beloved city. But I couldn’t get in, and I couldn’t phone in. So I sat like everyone else and watched the news until I was delirious with fatigue.

Wednesday night I saw a segment on the news — the James Beard House kitchen was up and running. I left a message for my friend Shelley Menaged, who organizes the kitchen volunteers for visiting chefs. I offered to do absolutely anything they needed help with, and packed my kitchen gear to take to work on Thursday.

When she called me back, she had just heard about the staff of Windows on the World, and had been without sleep for thirty-six hours. “I’m at my breaking point,” she said. “Can you come down tomorrow and keep me company?” At last, I could do something.

I was in no way prepared for what I would see. Watching it on television was slightly more bearable, but to see the streets of Manhattan empty — to cross Madison Avenue freely because there was no traffic to be seen — was the most chilling thing I’ve ever experienced. The silence was deafening.

It was worse downtown. By the time I got to the Beard House, I was choking on acrid smoke, and stood in shock as a convoy of Hummers came racing down 12th street. This was like a bad movie. Even so, it had less of an impact than what I would see in the hours to come.

The Beard House’s main focus through those few days was to provide meals for the doctors at St. Vincent’s Hospital (located across the street) and the policemen stationed nearby. Food was donated from practically every restaurant in town, and we were tripping over the supply of goods.

Every few hours someone would show up at the door with donations in hand; sometimes it was a shopping cart full of food, other times boxes of toothpaste and toothbrushes. We threw ourselves into the task of organizing everything that came in, restocking the buffet to ensure the food was always hot, and keeping a general sense of calm and quiet about the place.

Since there were so many volunteers in the kitchen, I decided to head to the dining room. There I discovered what my role would be for the next eighteen hours: I would provide comfort, a friendly face, and a warm plate of food for those who came to eat and rest. For a distraction I would give them a brief tour, showing them Beard’s mirrored bedroom and his open shower, with a glass wall as its only shelter from the outdoors. They got a kick out of that.

I fondly remember Vic, a young doctor who felt guilty to be eating a decadent meal as he waited for patients who would never come. He loved to cook, and was thinking about changing careers. I wonder if he ever did.

I shared food stories with two detectives who would be guarding the President of the United States at sunup. The weather was horrible, and they were embarrassed their suits would be wrinkled. They took great pride in their work, and wanted to be at their best when protecting the man in charge of this crisis.

But the policemen broke my heart. Like handsome characters from Central Casting they paraded into the dining room, with uniforms soaked but faces warm and friendly. The television was on, and as they sat down to eat, Howard Lutnick’s heart-wrenching interview came on. The officers visibly blanched as they listened to his story, and I realized in watching their faces they were hearing it for the first time. We were seeing all of this unfold on television, but they were out there in the pouring rain, living it. In a way, it protected them from hearing stories like this. They had enough to contend with.

What affected me more than anything else, though, was the attitude of every person who walked through that front door to eat a hot meal. They were so grateful that people were kind enough to take care of them. They couldn’t believe they were eating soup from Le Cirque and sandwiches from Daniel, and thanked us profusely for what we were doing. I was speechless. I wanted to throw myself at their feet for what they were doing, and they were thanking us.

It then hit me that food is, in fact, life’s true comfort. A hot meal can lend solace when we truly need it, and providing such a meal can be the most effective way to show one’s caring for another human being. I feel fortunate that I was able to serve those men and women I will never see again, but with whom I feel eternally bonded.

I have never visited Ground Zero; I’m not sure I ever will. The faces I saw over the course of those eighteen hours told me all I needed to know.

This article originally appeared on the Atlasphere on September 9, 2004.