My view from Brooklyn
Being born on September 11th was changed forever 10 years ago.
I temporarily relocated to NY June 2001 to write Tyler Florence’s debut cookbook, Real Kitchen. This was only my second book, and in looking back, was an important transition in my career——crazy to imagine that a decade later I have a total of nine cookbooks published.
Ty and I worked together on the FTV series Food 911 for 3 years and we considered each other family. To this day, he is like a brother to me. Through a series of circumstances, I ended up moving in with he and his girlfriend at the time, Evyn— a Jack Tripper, Three’s Company situ of sorts. I bunked in his five year old son Miles’ room, with a trunk full of toys, a blue Big Wheel, and a bird’s eye view of Flatbush Avenue. Spending the summer in Park Slope, Brooklyn and writing a “celeb-chef’s” first cookbook is in and of itself a memory.
As the hot summer in the city progressed, I rediscovered my New York soul. I moved to LA after college and while I visited the tri-state area often to see my parents and friends over the years, this was the first time I lived in the greatest city on earth as a woman. I was in a different place in my life than when I was going to NYU and bopping around the Village.
Tuesday morning September 11, 2001——day one of food photography for Real Kitchen. Big Day! It was also my birthday and Tyler and I intended to celebrate at Mesa Grill, at the invitation from fellow Food Network chef Bobby Flay.
Renowned photographer, Bill Bettencourt and his assistant are due to arrive at 9:30 am. All food and props were purchased and organized the day before. I wake at 7:30 am to find Tyler already prepping the beauty dishes in the kitchen. “JoJo, we need better baby bok choy for the Hong Kong Crab Cake shot.” “I’ll go down the street to the Korean market on 7th Avenue”, I reply. “No, the produce is better in Chinatown, it won’t take you long to run into the City and come back,” he says. With that, I hop on the orange F train to Manhattan’s lower eastside to procure and purchase photogenic Asian cabbage from an authentic Chinese grocer. In a flash, I jump back on the subway to return to the 718 area code.
After walking up three steep flights of stairs with beautiful bunches of bok choy, I find Tyler in front of the Today Show with a concerned Matt Lauer, talking about how a plane has “accidentally” crashed into the Twin Towers. This had to be around 9:00 am. The fact that I was on a train when the first plane hit, and moreover, that I was within the immediate vicinity of Wall Street while this all was happening is chilling to me. Three minutes later, I could have been potentially stuck underground like a rat in a hole, as MTA closed the downtown subways shortly after. I am forever aware and thankful that timing was on my side.
Ty is a photog at heart, and is always taking pictures and wanted to get up and out. He and I climbed the fire escape to the roof. It’s alarming how close Brooklyn actually is to downtown. We gravely watched as the first tower burns, listening to the radio commentary from a neighbor’s boom box. With a zoom on the lens, Tyler hands me his camera for use as binoculars, as the telephoto provides an upclose view. As I am watching the smoke, I see, what I think is a helpful helicopter hover…then Bam! I see through the magnifier the second plane fly into the second tower and explode into flames right before my eyes. “Holy Fuck!” Is all he and I could mutter! I truly could not believe the flames and smoke; like nothing I’d ever seen.
Then we watched as the towers came crashing down, imploding on themselves like the Sands Hotel or a Jerry Bruckheimer movie. This could not be real?! I was shaking, full of sadness and devastation, not knowing the facts and watching the News for any morsel of information.
The smoke, the white powder debris that covered seemingly everything, the putrid bitter smell of electrical fire, the constant sirens, the singed piece of paperwork I still have from a lawyers desk in tower 2 that floated all the way to Brooklyn and into my hands.
I will never forget how small I felt on that day. Or how I watched an army of commuters trek for miles on foot across the Williamsburg Bridge to their homes and families. Or how my birth was an accident, while innocent people and firefighters lost their lives. My birthday will forever be known as 911——tainted with terrorism, death, and the day my city and the nation were attacked.
Ten years later, it has not gotten any easier to “celebrate” my birth. I have been intentionally out of the country for at least 5 of the last 10 September 11ths because I end up watching the news; grieving and crying. How can I celebrate? What I have learned is that I am meant to mourn. I am meant to greet each morning with joy. I am meant to create, and write, and cook, and share a smile, and be a friend, and in so many ways be a gift to the world.
But I will never forget.
