Eating in the event of a disaster: Cookouts became a lifeline in a hurricane-ravaged North Carolina town Hurricane Helene

ERin Kellem's Asheville, North Carolina neighborhood is just a short drive from the city center but feels remote. The Haw Creek area's cul-de-sacs are surrounded by sprawling yards and surrounded by dense forests that may give the impression of isolation.

Hurricane Helene changed that, dumping an ocean of rain across the southern Appalachians. Floods of biblical proportions killed dozens. Power outages left thousands without power in most places for at least two weeks. There was no gas or cell phones for days after the storm, and most of the city is still without drinking water. Roads disappeared under pouring water and mud. The help that was on the way had no access and those stranded in their homes had no way to check on their loved ones.

“Everyone in the neighborhood came out with a chainsaw to help clear the streets,” said Kellem, whose family has lived in Haw Creek for 22 years. “When it became clear that we would no longer have power for the foreseeable future and our freezers began to thaw, we collectively said, 'Well, what do we have in our freezers?' And what can we all do with it?'”

Like so many in the city, Kellem and her neighbors raided their refrigerators and freezers, pooling together their wilted vegetables and thawed meat to feed each other.

“Our neighbors told us they were also planning what they called a 'freezer burn' and told us to bring a grill or camp stove if we had one,” said Taylor Aurilio, who lives near the Smith Mill Creek neighborhood to the west lives side of town.

“I think they were expecting maybe a dozen people, but it ended up being about 30! Neighbors rolled their grills down from their houses and pulled all the meat out of their freezers. And the next thing you know, you have a grill that makes Mexican food, one that makes Asian food, and another that makes barbecue. We all ate and brought things to put on ice in our refrigerators. It was great.”

Rachel Wingo is a social worker who lives in West Asheville, on a small block between the highway and the Pisgah View public housing community. She said proudly, “We’re a super diverse neighborhood. We are a community of Russian-speaking, Spanish-speaking and English-speaking families,” and some neighbors had a history of exceptional potlucks even before the storm.

“We all looked at each other and saw what everyone needed,” Wingo said. “We all had to clear out our freezers and fridges pretty quickly.” They picked the vegetables from their gardens as the weather forecast said a cold snap was imminent. “We had some tomatoes, I had some garlic, some onions… My garden was washed away by the rain so I could only collect what was left. But it became our first meal.”

She's not a big meat eater, but had purchased a grocery subscription box from a local farmer. She didn't really know how to cook the meat that came with the food. So all the beef was in her freezer and in danger of spoiling.

She brought the meat across the street to Salvadoran neighbors. “And they made carne asada out of it. They explained to me that they cooked it very dry…and it didn't need to be refrigerated. And you could eat it for a few more days. So I had carne asada for several days.”

In some parts of the city there were communal meals for several days. While there was a large bonfire in Aurilio's area, Kellem's family attended a barbecue every night for a week. For Wingo and her neighbors, three weeks have already passed and the number is increasing. Power is back, but many challenges remain and several food sources have been disrupted. So they still cook for each other. She was amazed: “We did all this without any money. We just used everything we already had.”

Her favorite meal of the whole affair was one evening at the home of Marty Gutierrez and her family. Gutierrez runs a home-made cake shop, Marty's Cakes & Desserts. She served banana bread, grilled meat and vegetables with the tacos. Someone else fried nopales, a type of edible cactus. The owner of a local natural wine shop called Crocodile Wines showed up with a case of wine. “It was in the center of the neighborhood and everyone came by. Adults, children, older people, people I had never met, people who didn't speak the same languages ​​but showed up anyway!” Wingo recalled.

It was a moment. Generosity won. And a community bonded over the shared hardship of living in a city where devastated infrastructure means you can't drink from the tap, cook with water or even just go to the grocery store due to road closures or power outages. Nobody knows how long the recovery will take.

“None of us hoard supplies. None of us are weird about it,” Wingo said. “We are all prepared for the worst. We all had pantries, but we shared what we had. Over the barbecue, wine and banana bread, I realized we’re all going to be okay.”

“Before, I probably knew the names of the dogs in our neighborhood better than their parents,” she said with a laugh. It was only a devastating hurricane and weeks of power and water outages that made these neighbors friends – at least for a short time. Wingo's Buttonwood Court faces demolition as a massive highway expansion sets to tear the neighborhood down like a knife.