Wall Street Journal - December 2, 2002
Kathryn Kranhold, Staff Reporter of The Wall Street Journal

In the summer of 2001, Mr. Thorne was a daytime sous-chef at Windows on the World, the chic, costly restaurant on the top two floors of the World Trade Center's Tower One. He was in his element there, having trained at the elbows of some of New York City's greatest chefs, but nevertheless decided to change venues: A few weeks before the terrorist attack destroyed the twin towers, Mr. Thorne prepared his last meal at Windows on the World after having become a chef in the kitchen of Momentum AIDS Project, which feeds low-income individuals living with HIV and AIDS.

Now, instead of feeding some 1,000 well-heeled diners on linen-covered tables, Mr. Thorne cooks up his mushroom gravy and carves glazed hams and turkeys for the men, women and children who show up with tickets at the basement of St. Paul the Apostle Church for a Thanksgiving buffet -- a crowd that may not carry American Express cards but is no less discriminating about the fare.

"They'll let you know how they feel about the food," says Mr. Thorne, smiling. "They act like they're paying $40 to $50. They're not shy."

Mr. Thorne, who is 36 years old, grew up in Harlem and the Bronx. He worked under celebrated chef Michael Lomonaco at New York's 21 Club, at which time he signed up with Momentum as a volunteer. His friend and high-school culinary classmate, Don McGill, was Momentum's executive chef at the time.

In 1997, Mr. Thorne followed Mr. Lomonaco to Windows. But in 2001, when Mr. McGill asked him to join the staff of Momentum, Mr. Thorne was receptive. The switch would entail a $10,000 cut in pay from his salary in the high $50,000s at Windows, but Mr. Thorne says he had been working 60 to 70 hour weeks and was tired. Momentum would give him more time to visit his teenage daughter in North Carolina. He accepted, officially leaving Windows early in the summer of 2001 but continuing to work at some private parties there in the weeks before the attack.

Mr. Thorne, who has since been named executive chef, says part of his decision to leave Windows for Momentum full time was to help others in his native city, but he is mindful that the decision ultimately saved his own life.

On Sept. 11, he was visiting his mother and teenage daughter in Charlotte, N.C., when he saw TV footage of the attack on the World Trade Center -- and knew his friends and former co-workers were starting their day at Windows. (Mr. Lomonaco escaped death that day because he had stopped at an eyeglass store on his way to work.)

Mr. Thorne says many of his friends didn't realize he was no longer there and left frantic messages on his home telephone machine that day looking for him. "People were crying. 'Tell me you aren't there,' " he recalls.

Reflecting on his move to Momentum, Mr. Thorne says: "I'm thankful I made the decision I did." That decision, he adds, "just came out of nowhere. I just decided it was time for me to go."

He says he isn't a particularly religious person, but he believes a higher power was looking over him: "It wasn't my time. I'm more than blessed."

His working life has added up to a study in stark contrasts. At Windows, there were rows of stainless-steel stove-top burners and double confectionery ovens. The kitchens where he now cooks typically have one stove with five burners and one double oven. Unlike at the 21 Club or Windows, Mr. Thorne also has firsthand contact with his clients, mostly African-American and Hispanic men and women who contracted HIV through either sharing a needle or sex with a boyfriend or husband.

Momentum opened its doors in 1985 during the beginning of the AIDS crisis with a mission to serve nutritious meals and provide other programs such as counseling. Six days a week, the project serves either lunch or dinner or both to more than 100 people a sitting. Its 2,000 clients also can take home canned goods and fresh vegetables and fruit.

Mr. Thorne sets up shop in donated spaces, often churches, within three of the city's five boroughs. He works with a dietitian who helps plan the meals to ensure that the clients are getting the proper balance of fresh fruits, vegetables, milk, protein and grains. His talents for creating gourmet fare are largely held in check by his diners' needs: Since he and his six employees are serving people who are on a multitude of medications and have weak immune systems, the cooks are sparing with salt and fat.

The organization has a $3.5 million budget, 35 full-time employees and some 300 volunteers. It receives most of its funding from federal and state grants. Like other nonprofit groups, Momentum is seeing more people in need of services, and it is receiving less money with which to care for them. After Sept. 11 of last year, Momentum used to serve meals seven days a week, but it had to cut out its Monday meals because of budgetary restraints, says Robert Mauer, director of community services.

Momentum celebrated Thanksgiving on Tuesday. On that day, 300 people crowded around round tables and at long cafeteria tables to eat turkey, ham, cornbread and sage stuffing, vegetable gratin, cabbage and collard greens. By 6 p.m., a 25-quart container of seafood bisque was nearly gone.

A few scoops of stuffing remained. The tin containers of turkey and ham were empty. Clients had brought backpacks, duffel bag and grocery carts to take home bags filled with stalks of fresh broccoli, apples, pears and bananas.

Momentum's clients are unaware that the man with a toothy grin who looks like a linebacker spent years in the kitchens of elegant restaurants before cooking for them, but they are delighted he is there. "The food is great -- it used to be too much grease, mundane," Monte Clarke said after this year's holiday repast. He had cleaned his white plastic plate of its rice with pigeon peas and glazed ham.

Mr. Clarke, who danced in Broadway musicals, films and television for more than 20 years before going on disability in 1991, has been eating meals at Momentum since it first opened. He said the lunches and dinners help him maintain a healthy diet that he couldn't do on his government stipends alone. "I'm very grateful for this place," he said.

After nearly two hours of activity, a few staff members and volunteers grabbed a bite of the Thanksgiving fare. One volunteer was Elise Feuerman, whose granddaughter, Alison Gertz, died of AIDS 10 years ago and was the subject of the movie "Something to Live For."

Mrs. Feuerman has been dishing out hot food for Momentum clients for 11 years. She said the clients "walked around looking like cadavers" back in the early 1990s. Now, she said, "they look so healthy."

The 90-year-old Mrs. Feuerman, who recently dined at New York's multistar restaurant, Daniel, is obviously no stranger to fine cuisine. After having a spoonful of Mr. Thorne's seafood bisque at the Thanksgiving feast, she was impressed. "Hmmm, like bouillabaisse," she said. "Delicious."

Write to Kathryn Kranhold at kathryn.kranhold@wsj.com

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