Fall Festival Fun!

LWGMS/St. Clouds Homeless Cooking Project

On October 27th, 34 LWGMS students and 29 of our alumnae, parents, grandparents, and staff joined Madrona's St. Clouds restaurant owner John Platt to provide an hour of dignity and good food for those who have too little of both in their lives.

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See photos from this project:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/lumhaus/sets/72157622605527189/show/

(Thanks, Dawn!)

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Read an account of the day written by Jeff Lee, parent '12.

Part I: St. Clouds

We arrived at the restaurant at 9am to the sight of two smallish 6th graders carrying bags of potatoes stacked up to their eyebrows. Inside, the place was buzzing, with several girls already wielding chef’s knives and vegetable peelers. More piles of produce and dry goods followed, balanced on skinny 6^th and 7^th grader legs. A little later, the 8^th graders straggled in bearing jars of spices and condiments, still yawning from their interrupted beauty sleep.

Soon the little dining room was packed. Every booth and table was covered with cutting boards and veggies, and the parents gave a few quick lessons in slicing and dicing, with an emphasis on avoiding fingers and fellow cooks.

John Platt, the owner and executive chef at St. Clouds, whirled around the room like a 6 foot 7 inch tornado, fielding questions and shouting orders. Michael King, his able sous-chef was a calmer presence, but no less capable. Soon a group of girls was lined up along the huge, commercial cooktop, stirring pots, working the griddle, and lowering baskets into the deep fryer. Heavenly smells began to waft through the air.

Out in the dining room, bowls the size of hula hoops began to bulge with vegetables. As compost bins filled up with peelings and trimmings, the chatter of sweet, high voices rose and fell against the low roar of the vent hoods and the sizzle of sauté pans. The onion booth overflowed with giggles and tears, and the girls at the lime table sprinkled zest and droplets of juice in the air.

Before long, raw ingredients began to morph into sumptuous and elaborate dishes. Carmelized onions mingled with butter and delicata squash, then draped themselves over steaming mounds of bow-tie pasta. Yard-long baking pans filled with orderly columns of pork chops and chicken breasts and Italian sausages. Bushels of rice swam in gallons of sweetened cream, and banana chocolate tarts as big as coffee tables slid onto oven racks to bake.

Soon the giant serving pans were filled, covered, and labeled for delivery. We made over 300 meals, destined for 4 different sites, each with a different four-course menu. Then it was time for clean-up. Our daughters wiped, scrubbed, sprayed, swept, vacuumed, dumped, stacked and stored until St. Clouds was ready for its afternoon seating. The girls didn’t complain, they didn’t resist, and they didn’t disappear. By the time we were done, most of them were exhausted. They were amazing.

Before we dispersed, we gathered out front for a group photo. John took a moment to praise the girls and all their good work, then he paused, and faltered a little with unexpected emotion.

“A lot of the people who will get these meals never eat like this,” he said. “They never sit down at a restaurant and have something beautiful and delicious that was prepared just for them. When you serve them this food tonight, think about that. Think about how much that moment of dignity might mean if it were something you never got to have.”

Part II: Hammond House

While the girls went home to clean up and take a break, a few dedicated parents took the afternoon shift to reheat the meals and transport them to the various sites. A few hours later, one group of servers headed north to Tent City. The rest of us went downtown to the Hammond House women’s shelter.

The entrance to Hammond House is quite literally a hole in the wall. It’s a rectangular opening in the brick wall of an alley with no signs, no ornamentation, and no distinguishing feature other than a locked wrought iron gate. We rang the bell and were greeted by Carol, an unhurried woman in her mid sixties with a generous smile and a slight southern accent. Carol led us down the stairs into a windowless basement room with worn linoleum floors and recessed fluorescent lighting.

We sat on the mismatched dining room chairs and listened as Carol gave us our orientation. Hammond House is an overnight shelter for women only. The residents arrive after 6pm for dinner, then stay overnight and leave in the morning. There is no limit on how long they stay, and many residents have been there for months or years. They came to Hammond House for many reasons. Some lost their jobs or were bankrupted by poor health. Some are fleeing domestic violence. Some struggle with mental illness or addiction. Surprisingly, about half of the women are over 50, though the ages of current residents span from late 20’s to early 80’s.

Next, Carol gave us a tour. The residents sleep in a large, open dormitory. They have a bed and a nightstand, and a couple feet of floor space. There are approximately 40 regular beds, but sometimes a couple of cots are added when the weather turns cold. And even in good weather, the demand for beds always exceeds the supply.

The women have tried to brighten up their personal space as much as possible. A little touch like a colorful quilt or a stuffed animal graces most beds. There are no screens and no semblance of privacy. Many residents pile their belongings in the middle of their beds and throw a blanket over them to hide them from prying eyes.

At six o’clock, the residents began to file in. Many seemed surprised and a bit taken aback to see so many unfamiliar faces. The girls washed their hands and slipped on oversized rubber gloves. They stood behind the counter over the steaming food, with serving spoons in hand and friendly smiles on their faces.

The meal was a big hit. Everyone loved the spicy potato salad and the pasta with sausage and squash. But by far the biggest hit was the banana chocolate cream tart.

“We love our dessert,” said E, an elderly woman with bright purple hair. “I get my hair colored once a year,” she said. “You know, just to shake things up.”

After the meals were served, the parents cleaned up so the girls could sit down and have some dinner with the residents. At one table, a tall, middle-aged woman named M held court surrounded by several girls. She had a deep voice and bleached blond hair, and a spiked dog-collar on her neck that intrigued the girls almost as much as what she was saying.

“I’m one of the lucky ones,” she explained. “I got into transitional housing down at the YWCA. It’s nothing fancy—just a room. But it’s safe. And private. They let me come and eat here because I lived here before I got into the Y. I’m an alumnae.” She went on to talk about her struggles with bipolar disease, and how that had altered the course of her life.

At another table, some of the girls sat with K and her friend J. Both women were in their 60’s, neatly dressed, and very articulate. Either one looked like they could have been the grandmother of one of our daughters. K is a lifelong vegetarian, so she couldn’t eat the sausage, but she made up for it by having seconds on dessert.

K used to work in a research lab at UW. When budget cuts hit last year, she lost her job, and couldn’t afford the rent. She’s been at Hammond House for several months. Every day, she goes out and tries to find work, but with the economy as tough as it is, she’s not having any luck. When she’s not job-searching, she fills her time by going up to UW and sitting in on lectures. Her parents were both in healthcare, and she listens to NPR, so she’s been following the current healthcare debate closely. That’s what we talked about, mostly. Healthcare, and politics, and the economy. It’s a conversation I might have had in any coffee shop in Seattle.

It began to get late, and the girls were pretty tired, so we packed up our serving pans and got ready to go. J and K encouraged us to come back.

“You don’t even have to bring food,” said J. “But we won’t complain if you do.”

M had a hard time saying goodbye. It was clear she relished having such an attentive audience.

“It’s really a treat for me,” she said. “A lot of the people I run into every day aren’t . . . well, they aren’t very nice people. You should all come back soon. It’s really been a pleasure.”