Eating your way through loss

Bereavement removes appetite, and yet provokes condolences in the form of gifted food. Friends and neighbours murmur their sorrow, and bring soup, bannocks, stews. Nothing frivolous, sustaining fuel for the empty days and often nights. Oatcakes. Flapjacks. Everyone needs something sweet. Rhubarb and custard pie, as made by Sue Lawrence (but modified by me for instant relief, with Ambrosia tinned custard and a ready-made pie pastry case).

For me, someone who has been appetite-driven since my first bite of Fry’s Turkish Delight, the first whiff of fat, fried fish and vinegar in the Largs air, eating is a solace. A surprising one, on those occasions when your mind and body are running on loss alone. “I’m not hungry…” Susan fetches a Frankie’s breaded haddock and chips, and insists I eat. And the wonders of fresh whitefish, panko breadcrumbs and liquidised, superheated  lard bring restoration and relief. Also mushy peas.

The brooding, the anxiety, the pounding heart, the constant memorializing buzz. After a while the desire, the need to cook kicks in, a practical, hand-and-eye analgesic. Simple things: A fried egg on buttered Voe oatcake.  Bacon, crisped and crumbly. Lentil soup. Stuffed peppers. Six-hour pulled pork, something else to monitor and meditate on all day. Cottage pie. And always, the healing balm of cheese: toasted, roasted, in all its most pungent forms. In parts of the Swiss Alps, giant rounds of cheese are stored away for years in preparation for your own inevitable funeral. Always good at forward planning, those Swiss.

No caffeine. The anxiety levels induced by my customary espressos are too high. Well, just one or two. Alcohol does nothing but prevent sleep. Sugar? cake? Chocolate? In Jewish culture sweets are served to counter the bitterness of death. I’ll have a Turkish Delight or a Fry’s Chocolate Cream crustless white bread sandwich, like my Aunt Maisie used to make.

Drugs, potent ones, come by the forkful, hot and helpful, cool and refreshing, sweet or yes, sometimes bitter; soothing and signifying that life has to continue. I can’t go on. I will go on. Taste and see.

Is it dinner yet? Lunch? Snacks slice up the day. Worries about weight gain and cholesterol can wait. There’s a time to live, a time to mourn and a time to diet. But not now.

I’m not talking about formal funereal purveys, the buffets of bereavement. Sausage rolls, steak pies, sandwiches made with Kraft Orange Stuff. Though in Shetland there is often glorious soup, lentil of course, a northern equivalent of Parsi death daal. I have made lentil soup, of course I have, a couple of litres. How do vegans mourn? I have no idea.

My soup was made with chicken stock, though. I probably won’t mention the fowl. Might be a wishbone still in there.

We may not be shivering in from a gale-lashed graveside; there are different kinds of absence.

Guests are coming. Roast chicken, smoked salmon, strawberries. Comté and oatcakes to finish. Let’s say grace: blessed are the cheesemakers.

(Apologies and thanks to @SueHLawrence and to @AnnaMTuckett, whose Twitter thread on funeral food popped up just as I was writing this and informed some details. The fascinating story of those Swiss mountain cheeses is in my book It Tolls For Thee).

In case you’re looking for  the Beatcrofting radio show, the Mixcloud link is here:

https://www.mixcloud.com/tom-morton2/toms-mortons-beatcrofting-7-july-2023/

It’s also available as a Spotify podcast (music only plays in full if you have Spotify Premium)

Beatcrofting playlist 7 July

PJ Harvey — Shame

Wreckless Eric — Standing Water

Sparklehorse — Evening Star Supercharger

Teenage Fanclub — Foreign Land

Mary Hopkin, Jessica Lee Morgan — You’ve got Everything

Lloyd Cole — Warm by the Fire

Nick Lowe, Paul Carrack — I Need You

Sharon Van Etten — Quiet Eyes

Dexy’s Midnight Runners — Coming Home

Jenny Lewis — Giddy Up

Juliana Hatfield — Don’t Bring Me Down

Lucinda Williams — Where the Song Will Find Me

Kübler Ross — Bridges