Charlottesville Fire Department engine operator Frank Scopelliti began the workday at daybreak this morning, the final alternating 24-hour day on duty in five days. He and Engine 7 have already responded to a smoke problem at University of Virginia Hospital, and he knows all too well that the firehouse loudspeaker could blare another call to action any minute. But right now, while there’s a lull, his most daring mission is preparing lunch for a dozen hungry firefighters— the biggest, heartiest meal of the day here.

Scopelliti is joined in the spare kitchen by fellow engine operator Sam Jeffers, who will play sous chef—chopping vegetables and prepping ingredients—and then handle dinner solo tonight. On-duty firefighters can sign up for one or both meals, paying $3 for each.

That bargain price gives Scopelliti a small budget and a big challenge. He has to turn out good, inexpensive, healthy food that can be prepared quickly. Oh, and then there are a few picky eaters with whom he must contend—those who think vegetables are “too adventurous.” (This from people who run into burning buildings when everyone else is running out?)

“If it’s green, they won’t eat it,” says firefighter and fitness buff Craig Williamson. “But if it’s orange and cheesy...”

Today’s menu satisfies the cheese lovers, but also subtly elevates crowd-pleasing chicken burritos by including homemade pico de gallo, basmati rice, and spiced chicken, as well as black beans, avocado slices, and Mexican-style cheese.

“I love cooking, but I hate managing people,” says Jeffers, who has a cooking degree from Johnson & Wales University’s culinary arts program. After graduation he worked in restaurants and food-service jobs in corporate offices and on a college campus. “When I was looking to get out of cooking, I came here and rode with these guys. There were a lot of retirement-age firefighters, and that struck me. I thought, ‘Wow. They must like working here if they stick around that long.’”

For Scopelliti, culinary duties at the firehouse were an initiation of sorts. “After I was hired, they said, ‘Hey, new guy. You’ve gotta cook,’” he recalls as he readies himself for a supermarket run. Though he has always enjoyed cooking at home, he was somewhat intimidated by the prospect of feeding a dozen or more people, working with a very fixed budget, and def lecting the inevitable complaints from the aforementioned picky eaters. But he’s managed just fine.

The loudspeaker summons Engine 7 for a medical call at a laundry on Preston Avenue, and seconds later the truck roars out. Since it arrives almost simultaneously with an ambulance, the firefighters are not needed and are soon on their way to Kroger for the day’s groceries. Scopelliti, Jeffers, and firefighter Scott Carpenter enter the store and exchange hellos with the cashiers, who know that if a call comes in while the firefighters are shopping, they’ll just ditch the cart. Duty trumps the grocery list every time.

The three career firemen first wander into the international-foods section for tortillas, and then head over to the meat department, where they pick up nine split chicken breasts and four thighs. “Money really drives this train,” Carpenter says. “For us, it’s whatever’s good and cheap.” To stretch the dollar, they often go for whole chickens or choose discounted meat that has reached its sell-by date, since they’ll be cooking it up right away.

As the trio works its way toward the dairy section for cheese and sour cream, Scopelliti explains that at the firehouse, there are just under 20 cooks total. Quite a few of the other 50 members cook fine meals for their families, but have no interest in slaving over the stove at the firehouse. Well, okay, but they pull their weight in other ways. About 1:30 p.m. there will be the announcement, “Time to clean the kitchen.” Everybody who ate will tidy the room, wash the dishes, and mop—even if they brought their own food. The only person not participating is the cook. Instead, he kicks back in front of the TV, relishing the fact that his kitchen work is done.

Because the relationships in a firehouse are much like a family, cooking for and eating with everyone is an exercise in bonding. And like any family’s cook, the firehouse chefs are always looking for ways to get the “family” to eat their share, but no more. When chicken breasts are on the menu, for instance, Scopelliti and Jeffers cut them up before serving; if they were served whole, many would eat twice as much—there’s something about one piece (no matter how big) that psychologically doesn’t satisfy.

The guys take a final inventory of the shopping cart’s contents, just to double-check that they have enough. They leave the store with about $50 worth of chicken, black beans, cheese, tortillas, sour cream, dinner rolls, bratwurst, sauerkraut, and a jar of mustard— the last four ingredients intended for supper this evening, which will feature oven-baked bratwurst with sauerkraut, wholegrain mustard, and red potatoes.

Still missing are the potatoes, tomatoes, and other vegetables, so the big red engine’s next stop is Standard Produce Company on Garrett Street downtown to purchase them wholesale. Then the crew heads back to headquarters to begin preparing the midday meal.

The firehouse kitchen’s aromas evolve from onions and peppers to chicken with spices to basmati rice. Scopelliti—born and raised in Charlottesville, in a family that came to the area from Brooklyn and Queens, New York—was raised on pasta and braised meats. So he likes to bring that kind of homecooking to the station house when he can.

Indeed, simplicity is the key for these guys. “I try to stick to something straightforward, like a roast and potatoes in the oven,” Jeffers says, getting down to work with the tomatoes that sit on the cutting board before him. He removes the cores and dices them for the pico de gallo that will also include jalapeños, cilantro, and onions. “Something I can put in quickly, step away, and just monitor.”

“We can’t do anything like sauces,” Scopelliti chimes in, explaining that time constraints don’t allow for such luxuries. There are 6,000 to 7,000 emergency calls to the Charlottesville Fire Department each year, about 4,000 of which summon the guys at this station— and many are bound to happen around mealtimes. In fact, it isn’t unheard of that a cook is taken away from the kitchen by a call— with something left in the oven or on the stove—only to return to a smoke-filled room and an inedible meal. Luckily, there are enough other people around and a fire-suppression system in the hood, so it never goes beyond an inconvenience.

Even with simple food as the mantra here, occasionally the cooks do tackle more elaborate recipes. One time, Scopelliti prepared homemade eggplant Parmesan from scratch, carefully mixing the breading with Parmesan cheese, frying the coated eggplant, and then adding the sauce and more cheese before baking it off. He worried that a few of the firefighters wouldn’t eat it, but they did—and even liked it.

“No offense, but that eggplant was better than I thought it was going to be,” comments battalion chief Peter Carpenter (no relation to Scott) as he walks into the room. “I expected it to be mushy, but it was wonderful. I enjoyed it.”

Jeffers and Scopelliti work together until Jeffers’ truck gets called away for a medical emergency, leaving Scopelliti to finish up the meal. By 11:40, the captivating aroma of onions and spices has lured the first person in to inquire expectantly if lunch is ready. He’ll have to wait a bit longer.

Twelve minutes later, the black beans with sautéed onions are mixed with the basmati rice. The chicken—which has already been parboiled, sliced into pieces, and tossed with chili power, cumin, and garlic salt—is ready to come out of the oven. “Lunch!” yells Scopelliti (thereby answering the question of whether it’s okay to yell “food!” in a crowded firehouse).

Firefighters help themselves to giant chicken burritos with fresh pico de gallo, sliced avocados, black beans and rice, and lettuce. A few add cheese as they talk of local sports and other news. Between mouthfuls, from around the table, you can hear “Very good, Frank, Sam.”

A bite later, however, the alarm sounds. Forks clatter and half-eaten plates are left on the table as gear is pulled on and Engine 7, Truck 1, and the battalion chief respond to another call at UVA hospital. Diners scramble quickly, muttering, “It knows”— placing the blame squarely on the alarm for sensing when they’re otherwise occupied.

After the situation is assessed and they determine there’s no danger, the crew returns to the station and settles right back down to finish the meal. It’s as if they never left. A few firefighters top a second helping with avocado and pico de gallo before they begin cleaning the kitchen, awaiting the next call—and looking forward to the evening meal at the firehouse.

Matt Gottlieb is a writer secretly hoping these firefighters set up a burrito joint in his hometown of Richmond.

Return to Table of Contents