When my brother-in-law Bill Dwyer asked if I'd be interested in judging a cook-off, I leapt at the opportunity. I'd always wanted to be a food judge--though I'd never imagined that the competition would be among Bill's fellow firefighters, or that it would take place in a firehouse kitchen.

But the captain, Kevin Pachas, didn't want to give a journalist the impression that all his team did was sit around and eat--hence he invited me to "PT" (physical training) with them prior to our dinner. This involved climbing up and down 15 flights of hotel stairs followed by 15 push-ups and sit-ups. I eked out three sets while the rest of Arlington County Fire Station 1 (C-shift) did about 10. Later, with my legs feeling like jelly, I told the captain that next time I'll just take him at his word.

In addition to extinguishing fires, breaking up drunken brawls, and reviving overdosed junkies, firemen need to eat. "Cooks in the fire department are gold," said Pachas. "They're right up there with good laddermen--a sought-after, high commodity." Station 1 is fortunate enough to have more than its share of this commodity, so much so it decided to hold its first-ever cook-off.

The competition was fierce. My brother-in-law made a London broil and scallops wrapped in bacon. Another fireman, James Johnson, brought a hearty macaroni and cheese but was disqualified since it was made, in fact, by Mrs. Johnson. Glenn Smith, a large Michigander nicknamed "Panda Head," is considered the station's top chef and did not disappoint, serving up a baked salmon topped with lump crabmeat. But in the end, the winner was Jeff Crooke (aka "Derek Smalls" because of his Spinal Tap mustache). Jeff reproduced his mother's sauerbraten and red cabbage with bacon. He also improvised: Where the recipe called for top round and juniper berries, he substituted chuck roast and gin (along with cider vinegar and Guinness). It worked brilliantly.

Although the station gets on average 8 to 10 calls a day, the dinner itself was blissfully uninterrupted. And it allowed me to ask all sorts of questions: Is there a favorite firefighting movie? Have they ever rescued a cat from a tree? What is the best part of their day? How often do they find themselves in grave danger?

Concerning that last, "there are lots of times," says Captain Pachas. "Who hasn't fallen through a hole in a fire?" (Amazingly, I have not.) In 1995 Pachas was dealing with a garden apartment blaze when "our valve failed on the engine and we didn't get any water. The place flashed and I was the furthest one in." He shows me the burn scars on his left shoulder.

Pachas and Johnson also remember a time in Arlington about 20 years ago when black and Hispanic gangs from nearby neighborhoods were at each other's throats. Paramedics wore bulletproof vests when responding to calls. On one occasion, an ambulance driver nearly lost control when two rival gangmembers being treated inside his vehicle started fighting. Lately the station has seen an uptick in crime in the Asian community: One incident involved a fight between Koreans and Vietnamese in the back of a restaurant kitchen--never a good idea when one of the parties has access to carving knives and meat cleavers.

None of the men could recall ever rescuing a cat from a tree. But Pachas knew a lieutenant whose stock response to such a call was, "Lady, you ever see a cat skeleton in a tree?" Regarding a favorite firefighting movie, there is no consensus. Backdraft is easily the most quoted (though highly unrealistic). The battalion chief, who briefly stuck his head into the kitchen, said he prefers The Towering Inferno.

By and large the pace at Station 1 is not frenetic. "The thing is, most firehouse life is like this," says the captain, gesturing to his men around the table. "It's wonderful. We're laughing. We have a great time." He's being modest, though the level of activity here certainly pales in comparison with, say, a firehouse in the South Bronx in the early '70s: In the classic Report From Engine Co. 82, Dennis Smith wrote that his station responded to over 9,000 calls a year. Arson was rampant. Miscreants threw bricks at the firemen hanging from the pumper. (Arlington is a long way from the South Bronx, though the firemen here remind me that just across the river in the District, the calls can still get pretty intense.)

As for the best part of the day, says Jeff Crooke, it's "the rare occasion we're able to sleep all night." On that, everyone agreed.

VICTORINO MATUS