Yesterday on Design Mom, Gabrielle asked about comfort food. As in, what are your comfort foods. I thought it was an intriguing question - and one that took me a surprising amount of time and thought to answer.
So much of comfort food comes from history. Personal history. Family history. Cultural history. Memories of a grandparent's pastry shop or a mother's cooking or a taste of home.
Taste of home? When I think of meals growing up, my brain keeps bringing up Hamburger Helper prepared on a hotplate. Not the best time of my young life. Mom wasn't much of a cook - at least not that I remember. The kitchen wasn't where we gathered. Food wasn't central to my experiences.
Except long weekend breakfasts at my omi and opa's house.
Proper breakfast, at the dining table, with a pot of steaming loose tea as the centerpiece and plates piled with meats and cheeses that I never ate and still don't. Five or six different pots of jam and a honey pot, too, with a wooden honey wand. A boiled egg for everyone, served in an egg cup. Dark brown bread and grain bread and maybe bagels, too, all warm under a cloth napkin in a basket. Some mornings, blood sausage. Which I didn't eat. Some mornings, leftover cake, which I did.
We enjoyed a little bit of that in Germany this past summer and even sometimes when we visit my grandparents. But it's made somewhat less relaxing by the P., who might eat half a slice of bread with jam or a bit of croissant before demanding to be released from the purgatory that is a seated meal.
I wonder what P. will consider comfort foods when she's a grownup. Hopefully, by the time she grows out of the cold waffle stage, I will have figured out this cooking business. And maybe we'll have some long weekend breakfasts of our own that she will remember fondly through the decades.
What are your comfort foods?