This week my family has suffered the loss of a beloved uncle. Being new to this family, this gigantic family, I didn’t know the uncle very well, but I liked him well enough. To quote Mr Bilbo Baggins : I don’t know half of you half as well as I should like; and I like less than half of you, half as well as you deserve.
And because I never ever know what to do when people are sad, other than to try and make them happy, I spend two and a half hours of my life last night making 58 pierogi. Because when someone dies, our first instinct, other than to console them, is to make them food. I know that Poppa C (the brother of the deceased uncle) loves pierogi, so I made them. (I also may have sprained my wrist in the process)
I did some googling and found a plethora of articles surrounding, funerals, and food. Even a few pinterest boards titled “Funeral Food”. Because I guess a lot of people die. There’s even a such thing as a funeral pie.
The psychology behind this is relatively simple; We eat to prove we are alive. The equally simple cliche of: we don’t know what we have until it’s gone, also applies. We essentially eat our feelings. Food makes us feel better for no other reason than doing something other than thinking about how sad we are.
Here’s my humble take
We make food because we love people. We hurt because they hurt. We are a collective mess of wandering souls. We make our food with care, in hopes that the small pieces of love we fit inside each bite, will help fill the void that has suddenly appeared in the other person’s life.
Peace, Love, and Rose colored glasses,
P.S. Is funeral cake a thing?
P.P.S. Brown dog hates funerals. He likes to party.
P.P.S.S. I believe in The Great Perhaps