Chicken Soul For The Soup

Firefighting epitomizes the ideal of the do-anything McGyver. At any moment, the tones could sound, signifying an emergency for the City's citizens. Regardless of the nature of the call, the City's citizens pay us, and expect us, to solve their problems. Fires, vehicle accidents, strokes, cuts, scrapes, and bruises fall into the category of the expected and well-rehearsed crisis. I'd be lying if I said that every call is a bona-fide emergency, and many aren't. But to the person that dials 911, it seems that way at the time. When a bad situation lands outside the box, problem solving and creativity save the day.

A firefighter's apprenticeship consists of, in part, getting to know your available resources, such that a solution can be cobbled together when the time comes. Many of our bread and butter strategies, the ones we practice, the ones we pull out in time of need, were once somebody's hare-brained idea.

Take, for instance, the drop-bag evolution. Once upon a time, probably early in the business of fighting fire, a man had a better idea. Suppose there's fire on the third or fourth floor, stairwells deep inside the building, and no standpipe. Rather than making entry with a charged hoseline, the pipeman and officer pull a couple of sections of hose and a nozzle from the hosebed of the engine. A satchel of tools and a bag containing rope are retrieved from a compartment. Pipeman and officer enter the building, finding their way to the best floor from which to attack the fire. A window is busted out, or, better yet, opened, and the bag is dropped to the ground, rope spooling out, as it falls. Meanwhile, at the engine, the driver has pulled some hose and attached it to a discharge port at the pump. The end of the hose is secured to the rope, and the pipeman hauls it up and connects it to the now-assembled hoseline. A signal is given, and the hose stiffens with fire-quenching water pressure. No dragging of hoselines through the structure, no unnecessary hose, with its attendant complexity and friction loss, no bullshit. Quick, easy, and direct.

When I attended my volunteer academy, I faked my way through a myriad of situations, relying on my heft and experiences to guide me, until muscle memories were formed, until I understood the why of it. Throwing ladders wasn't too hard, but smaller folks wrestled to get the get them upright and placed properly. I could start the power equipment, and dismantle a chainsaw. My background in science and chemistry served me well in my studies of hazardous materials and fire science. And I knew my way around a kitchen.

In the firehouse, we live together, a family united in a common cause. We have our quarrels, our triumphs, our history. Every meal is a ritual coming-together, whether it's over bacon and eggs, tuna salad, or fresh-caught wild salmon. As a volunteer, canned chili con carne and instant cornbread lost its allure quickly, and I'd shoulder my way into the cramped kitchen and gently take charge of preparing dinner. Through high school and college I worked in restaurants, working my way up from dishwasher to cook. Later, I would entertain, leafing through cookbooks, assembling elaborate feasts for friends and family, with an emphasis on Italian and French country cuisine. I enjoy cooking, and in the firehouse, the skills and techniques from my previous culinary endeavors play well.

In my department, in a station with more than one crew, dinner duty rotates every shift. The inspired or simply helpful will pitch in, and other crews will, if possible, cover calls for the guys in the kitchen. Everyone has their own specialties and talents, and we have a lot of collective cooking experience. Dinners range from coupon-clipping serendipity to full-blown gourmet. Regardless of the chosen menu, everyone pays their fair share, and happily. When time, ingredients, and the budget line up, our shift dinners can be the best meals of our week. Occasionally, though, the day is full of calls and/or training, and shopping and preparation for dinner is forgotten. It's always good to have a few go-to ideas for dinner under your hat when dinnertime is looming. Fast food is always an option, but I prefer the economy and comfort of the home-cooked firehouse meal.

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40 Minute Chicken Noodle Soup With Dumplings.

(serves 5 firefighters)

Ingredients

-1 grocery store roasted chicken

-4 carrots

-1 huge onion

-1 bunch celery

-olive or canola oil as needed

-1 package egg noodles

-1 14 oz can of beans (kidney, garbanzo, whatever)

-1 can mushrooms (tell the picky eaters to suck it up)

-salt and black pepper to taste

-rosemary, sage, bay leaf to taste

optional -canned chicken stock or bullion cubes (with a reduction in salt)

-sour cream

For dumplings:
-5 cups baking mix, like Bisquick
-1-1/2 cup milk
-copious black pepper

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-Recruit some kitchen help and wash your hands.
-Pick meat from chicken, reserving diced meat in a bowl. Skin and bones go into the stock pot.
-Chop onion, toss skin and ends into stock pot.
-Dice 3 carrots, tossing ends and 4th into stock pot.
-Slice 4 celery stalks, tossing ends and a couple stalks into stock pot.

On burner number 1:
-Cover contents of stock pot with water, heat over high heat until boiling
-Season with pepper, bay leaf, other spices of choice. Reserve salt until soup is assembled.
-Maintain rolling boil, uncovered, for 20 minutes.

On burner number 2:
-heat a large pot of water, to boiling, for egg noodles. Cook per instructions. Reserve.

On burner number 3:
-Place cut vegetables in large skillet with oil. Saute until onions and carrots soft. Add diced chicken meat, and brown lightly. Reserve.

Meanwhile:
-Gently combine Bisquick, milk, and pepper, think fluffy thoughts.
Variation: add 1-1/2 cup cooked rice of choice, in lieu of dumplings.

After 20 minutes of boiling stock:
-Strain contents of stock pot in preferred manner, maintaining lookout for errant pieces of chicken. Discard solids (called raft in the restaurant world).
-Add sauteed vegetables and chicken to stock.
-Add the drained beans and mushrooms.
-Add the drained noodles.
-Add water, chicken stock, or bullion if desired.
-Adjust seasonings, Salt to taste.
-Gently spoon dumpling mix onto top of soup, covering. Simmer, uncovered, for 10 minutes, cover and continue simmering 10 more minutes.

Soup's on! Garnish with a dollop of sour cream. Serve with a simple side salad, with ice cream for dessert. Don't burn your tongue! Enjoy, considering modifications to make this your soup.

Up every morning, before daaaay!

Most of the toes on my right foot went numb during the third or fourth week. I can only attribute this to the pernicious weight of the bunker gear, helmet, and air pack that I wore on my person most days during fire academy. Perhaps I kinked a nerve, hose bundle shouldered, irons in hand, spine bending sideways. Rarely, we'd spend a part of the morning sitting in the classroom, absorbing wisdom and theory, but the bulk of the day was filled with drilling. Every activity we did was bracketed, like bookends, with marching.

Every morning, at 0600, we'd crawl out of our bunks, assemble in the lunch room, grab a drink of water, line up and march to the HazMat building for morning PT. Our morning regimen consisted of stretching and push ups, and then we'd break up into group, with some running down the hill and back, others involved in strength training, with a third group pulling hoses, taking hydrants, and throwing air packs for time. Later, we'd line up in our companies again, standing at attention in front of the flagpole, waiting for our student officer to march us down the road, around the pond, and to the apparatus building where our gear hung on hooks, organized alphabetically.

Honestly, most of the time our marching was pretty lame. The weather when we started the academy was full-on alpine winter, and the ground was often frosted with a rime of compacted snow. If it wasn't snowing, it was usually raining. Mustering energy, at oh-dark-hundred, for a disciplined display of military marching was difficult the gloom. We grumbled under our breath about the time of day, the temperature, the breakfast the that awaited us after PT.

But we sang. Depressed by this lack of enthusiasm, and hoping to drive home some bullet points, I penned a cadence about our study material for the week. Encouraged by the captains chaperoning us, I assumed the task of cadence master and filled a small notebook with simple rhymes. I soon realized that I wielded an awesome power, and my class would willingly sing anything offered to them.

We're the class of Oh Six One

Adapt, improvise, and overcome...

In the dark, on the path to early morning exercise, I'd call out the cadence, my voice cracking in the morning air, vocal cords tight and cold. The response was variously anemic, goofy, or robust. Knowing that the chief was listening was motivating, and our return trip from PT was invariably louder and more energetic than before. Occasionally, other fire departments from across the state would use the facilities for live fire training, and we'd sing the pride in our hearts across the valley to echo off the mountain and burn tower.

Oh Six One, we are the class

Fightin fire kicks yer ass!

My golden achievement as cadence master occurred one sunny warm day, after lunch. Our drilling had run late and we'd opted to forgo changing out of our bunks, in order to secure our slot in the lunchroom. After a frantic meal, we reassembled in our ranks and headed back to the drill tower. We hadn't yet earned the privilege of using The Path, a gravel shortcut between the our quarters and the drill facilities. Honor and tradition demanded that we take the road, a route that increased the distance fourfold. We were late, and I envisioned our instructors tapping their feet, eyes on wristwatches. As we marched, I quietly consulted Joe, an airforce firefighter veteran, our authority on military drill and precision. The command to step up the pace and run was "Double Time!". I issued the command and we began trotting in time to a faster song, our bunker boots slapping the pavement, an authoritative jangle rising from our bunker gear. Our voices rose over the flam pad, above the burn tower, to the top of Mailbox Hill.

We weren't sprinting, but arrived at our assignment in a loud and organized manner. We shaved valuable minutes off of our transit time and we looked good. We looked great. We felt great. We were professionals.

Oh Six One, we take no slack!

Hot or cold, we gotcher back!

Those toes are still a little dead, sensation diminished. When I notice it, I can't help but smile. I learned so much at the Washington State Fire Academy, but I earned my numb toes.