Biceps has begun his “real life” as a firefighter, right here in our hometown. Before the Academy, he was employed as a firefighter by another city, driving back and forth for almost two hours. But, now he’s here and just a few miles down the road. Boo yeah.
It may be a bit of a boys’ club, but they don’t ever turn away cookies, cakes or ice cream.
I’ve learned something by visiting these men a few times. Sure, they have to fight fires, kick in doors, and chainsaw through roofs in order to save homes and lives. Yes, they arrive on scene to DOA’s, horrible car accidents, child abuse situations and people stuck in cherry pickers.
Because of this, they look like superheroes to me-taking care of business when I would be crumpled to the ground in an emotional heap-wreck. (Yes, that’s a word.)
But underneath all the bunker gear, the breathing apparatus and the helmet, they’re still just men.
Men who love their families, their hobbies and their food.
The first time I was invited to the station, I was full-blown nervous. I wore a tank top so that my sweaty pits could breathe. I wore heels so that I would look like I took this invitation seriously. And, I made a mustache cake. I knew if I totally bombed, at least I would have a dessert to make up for it.
I arrived on scene to six firefighting men hovering over a commercial grade stove, taking their jobs of cooking very seriously. A ham was being carved, a skillet full of green beans was being stirred, stuffing was warming in the oven and the mashed potatoes were still steaming.
Whatever I was worried about was for nought. Dinner with five strangers and Biceps couldn’t haven’t been more perfect-the food was amazing and the conversation happened easily. And bonus-I didn’t say one stupid thing. However, my pits did sweat-it was stinkin’ hot in that kitchen. It’s like these guys are around fire all day long, or something.
During the meal, I soon realized how seriously these men took their cooking. “There would be no taco salad or sloppy joe’s made here,” they said. Besides saving lives, cooking was the most important thing they did on shift.
And then, Biceps was asked to make dinner. You must understand that although helpful in the kitchen, Biceps doesn’t really cook.
He was full-blown nervous. We went over a proposed menu numerous times, what times to start each item, how to tell when it’s done and all the little things us cooks forget we do.
“Oh yeah, of course you add olive oil. That kind of goes without saying.” Mr. Details (Biceps) disagreed.
He settled on mesquite chicken, broccoli and mashed potatoes. Total success, of course. And then, he was asked to make dinner again-this time sushi. Another total success.
He’s becoming a regular Julia Child-who happens to wear a helmet from time to time and run into burning buildings to pull out kitty cats and babies. How hot is that?
I guess a girl can have it all.