Bruins talk about the loss of a family member

Every morning, Jeremy Swayman would walk into the workplace kitchen and engage in a playful shouting match with the guy running it.

“Beauty!” the goalie would holler. “Beauty!” Keith Garman would holler back, a bit louder and longer.

They would escalate, back and forth, until the bit sent them toward ridiculous laughter.

“Every morning, Chef would say, ‘How we livin’?’ ” Swayman said. “And I would find a new word. ‘Swimmingly.’ Something fun. That was our thing.”

The Bruins entered the weekend as the hottest team in the NHL (8-1-0), but their mornings have been a lot less fun without their beloved team chef.

On Oct. 11, the day before the Bruins’ season opener, Garman was playing in a pickup hockey game when he felt discomfort, left the ice, and collapsed. He died at St. Elizabeth’s Hospital in Brighton. He was 33.

Garman’s father, Phil, of Johnstown, Pa., said his son was found to have an irregular heartbeat, which led to cardiac arrest. The family is waiting for a medical report. The Bruins and Garman’s loved ones attended an Oct. 16 service in Brighton.

Garman, a graduate of Johnson and Wales culinary school, was considered a rising star in the local restaurant scene while at Alden & Harlow in Cambridge. The Bruins offered him his dream job in August 2018, where Garman, a hockey player since age 5, could unite two of his passions.

“He loved cooking for those players, being in that atmosphere, being at the games, you name it,” Phil Garman said. “He was at a stage where professionally, personally, everything was falling into place for him. He was so happy and content, the last couple years in particular.”

In June, Garman purchased his first home, a condo in South Weymouth. He was fixing it up for himself and his girlfriend of two years, Jasmin Palacios of Brighton.

They met online, after the South Texas native came to Boston to earn a master’s in public health at Boston University. She described him as bright, kind, patient, humble, and hard-working; a surprisingly good dancer and singer with an innate sense of rhythm; and a devoted father of two tuxedo cats, Sherlock and Watson.

“I think he was exactly where he wanted to be in his career,” she said.

“He was so happy with life in general. It makes it all that much harder.”

She pulled up a text from Aug. 18, at 8:48 p.m. That month, she and Garman’s family rented a vacation home in Rehoboth Beach, Del., and spent two weeks there. They were readying for another hockey season. At that moment, Garman texted her: “I love my life. It’s so good.”

Six days a week, nine months of the year, Garman cooked breakfast and lunch for Bruins players and staff. He prepared take-home meals for several players, including Charlie Coyle, all year long. Garman whipped up postpractice snacks, pregame meals, and late-night dinners. Guided by nutritionist Julie Nicoletti, Garman and assistant chef Mike Schauer fueled a team of high-powered athletes.

In a hockey season that constantly drains their physical and emotional reserves, Garman helped them recharge. His kitchen was a haven for them. The Bruins would connect with Chef Keith, then each other as they readied for the next game.

“If you didn’t know him, he was super quiet and did his thing,” Patrice Bergeron said. “But he opened up. He was funny and laid-back with some good stories. We love what we do, but it’s a stressful job. He had a way of taking that stress away every time we talked. He was a genuine person.”

In stark contrast to previous generations, today’s NHLers are notoriously clean eaters. They are also calorie-incinerating engines. Garman was always ready with a cheat meal.

“I don’t know if I should tell this,” one veteran Bruin said. “When the boys were going out the night before, and might be a little hung over, it was, ‘Just shoot me a text and I’ll have something good for you.’ We’d come in for video and he’d have grilled cheeses for the boys. Nine different cheeses in there, and some tomato soup.”

Several players raved about his perfectly executed chocolate chip cookies. “Wooo,” Connor Clifton said. “You want to go back for seconds, but we’re recording this, so I never do.”

Bergeron, ever attentive to his regimen, referred to them as “recovery cookies, to make us feel better about eating them.” Chef and captain regularly met to check signals, update player preferences, and review menu items.

Jake DeBrusk acknowledged his diet has improved in recent seasons, but he likes his treats. Bruins fans standing behind the glass toss packages of Oreos to him during warm-ups. Not only will he accept, “sometimes I have one before the game,” DeBrusk said. “I offer them to the boys. You’d be surprised — lots of guys dabble in there. It’s a little sugar rush, a little kick.”

Naturally, Garman hooked him up. “He used to hide the Coca-Colas, so that only I knew where they were, because they were getting rinsed from the team,” DeBrusk said. “So he’d always have a secret stash in case I needed one. Then Pasta [David Pastrnak] found out about the stash, and it got around. It was a good attempt. It got cleaned up.”

Come breakfast time, Garman had DeBrusk’s order ready: “I’d walk in, say hi, same thing. Omelette, ham and cheese. When I wasn’t hot, he’d switch it up and throw different things in there.” Likewise, a flash of a thumbs-up from Matt Grzelcyk had Garman making his favorite omelette: ham, onions, tomato, and spinach, with avocado on the side. Clifton would object to their pickiness, but Garman didn’t mind.

“He’s cooking for 50 people, the whole organization, every day,” Clifton said. “A couple guys don’t want the beautiful buffet he’s just worked all day on. Grizz will get a customized omelette. Sway doesn’t like baked broccoli, so Chef steams some. I’m always on them. ‘Really guys?’ But he never took my side. ‘No, no. That’s why I’m here. I’ll make whatever you want.’ ”

Garman’s skill altered palates and broke hard-wired routines. Clifton needed his game-day chicken, until he tried Garman’s pan-fried salmon. Coyle wasn’t a soup guy, but “some of them tasted like dessert.”

“Top notch,” Linus Ullmark said. “I do love soup. The variety and quality

. . . phenomenal. Everything was tremendous. You’re so blessed to have food on the table after practice.”

Swayman would grab a bowl and stand behind the counter, often chatting about music (they shared a love for the Red Hot Chili Peppers) and fishing (the Alaskan goalie is an avid angler).

“I loved his butternut squash soup,” Swayman said. “And so he texted me a full-[on] recipe, like four pages long over text — Chef, are you kidding me? I tried [to make it]. It was not good. “Yeah . . . I miss him.”

Garman was “the best,” Derek Forbort said. “There were such good vibes in that room. You’d come in after a tough loss, get breakfast, and say, ‘What up?’ to him. He always had good tunes going. He’ll be missed.”

“He had a smirk to him,” Grzelcyk said. “He got it. He had that sense of humor. He’d listen before he spoke. He always kept it so light.”

“I always enjoyed our mornings,” Ullmark said. “The small things. It’s very sad we won’t have any more fun moments. It reminds you that life is very precious.”

“It’s so tragic and surprising, how it happened,” DeBrusk said. “For him to leave that way was tough. It won’t be the same without him. Life’s life. It can get taken away from you for different reasons. You just try to remember the good times.

“His alfredo sauce was electric. I don’t know if alfredo will ever taste as good.”