Family meal was the best part of the job, hands down. The calm before the storm. We’d throw together whatever scraps we had—yesterday’s bread, an overripe tomato, a handful of something that maybe shouldn’t have worked but always did. We’d eat fast, swap stories, talk shit, laugh. For a few minutes, we weren’t cooks or dishwashers or servers—we were just people, hungry in more ways than one, sharing something that felt like home in a place that never stopped moving.