I’m not sure I’ve ever even cooked one, but there’s this whole mythology around the casserole. When my youngest was born, I had developed a lovely network of new parents in our neighbourhood and we had started this great thing where we brought full meals to the families for a couple of weeks after the new baby arrived. It was the equivalent of small town “bring a casserole to the Smith’s because they had a baby” sort of thing. We ate like royalty for a couple of weeks – chicken pot pie, encrusted roughy, gorgeous salads, nutty pastas. Not a single casserole. But I’ve concluded that casserole is really just the brand name for “food brought for the occasion”. Like Kleenex™.
What I realized, though, is that casseroles™ usher you in and usher you out. When people are born, you bring food. When people die, you bring food.
So food is welcome and food is comfort. Food is our way of expressing feelings that are sometimes too tender to utter. Food is the surrogate for emotions that we lowly humans have lost the capacity to demonstrate in any other way. Without the casserole™, we would have to find another proxy for the sometimes unspeakable feelings that go along with beginnings and endings.
What has been your experience with food at the start and at the finish? Share with me!