People can love food but be traumatized by it, too.  Food can be used as control in prisoner, famine, or hostage conditions.  People with eating challenges become so traumatized by food that it is seen as the enemy rather than nourishment.  Soldiers and captives associate certain foods with the enemy and often will never eat that food again.

Food has always played a major role in my large Greek/Russian restaurant family.  We have big get-togethers and a whole lot of food.  After many of us traveled, certain beloved food and wine from other cultures became incorporated into our family menus.

Recently – and sadly — food played a front and center role for my family acting as a rubber band, band-aid, and a source of comfort and nourishment.

My Mother-in-law, Arla, died suddenly last week.  She was two weeks shy of her 87^th birthday, seemingly in good health, active, and involved.  Eating out was her passion and a defining part of her life.  Fittingly, the last time I saw her, four days before her death, she had had lunch at Nobu with her friends and had invited her grand-daughter-in-law and her great-grandson, Jack, who is lovingly named after her husband. She followed this by dinner on the same day with my husband and me at a well-known Upper West Side restaurant.  When we arrived, she was waiting for us at the bar and during dinner, as she usually did, she critiqued the menu, food, décor – and the wine.

Exactly one week later, food and drink played a major role the night before her memorial service.  Immediate family, having arrived by car, plane, and train gathered at a restaurant (which she would have approved of) to eat, drink, and reminisce.  It was a much needed opportunity for communal sharing – with animated commentary on the choice of wine – none of which my Mother-in-law would have drunk having preferred dry, cold white wine that made your mouth pucker.

After the memorial service there was an open house at my apartment.   Fittingly, food and drink provided a focus, nourishment, and conversation starter.  Even the caterer – who had become Arla’s friend, generously made a gift of the food in her honor.  Prompted by salami, cheese, fruit, cookies, coffee, wine, soda, and sparkling water, everyone seemed to have a story to tell that related to special food – or drinks – or restaurants – or trips —  and Arla.

Our family always joked that she kept cans of soda in her apartment for years and years that ended up being off-tasting and flat.  I’ll be darned if the first bottle of Coke, opened by her nephew and purchased two days before, wasn’t flat.  Was she smiling?

Her brother suggested we serve only American red wine knowing she wouldn’t have drunk it – didn’t this make him feel better and lighten the mood?

Her good friend, an actress, went straight to the coffee pot.  Even though it was close to 1PM she needed her morning coffee – she’s usually just getting up at that hour.  Wouldn’t Arla, who was always up at the crack of dawn, coffee in hand, have smiled?

People ate, people drank, and people told stories.  Little kids and babies ate.  The dog scarfed up crumbs.  My oldest son shared some jellybeans with his brothers and cousins that he took from his grandmother’s ever present and always full jellybean bowl on the day she died.  “Fresh ones,” he said, “she must have just filled it up.”

The communal spirit – initiated by the unexpected passing of a mother, sister, mother-in-law, grandmother, great-grandmother, aunt, sister-in-law, and dear friend – was aided and supported through the comfort and familiarity of food and drink.

On the way to my apartment after the service I was in a cab with one of my sons and Arla’s brother.  As the cab alternately rocketed and crawled down Ninth Avenue we passed one of my favorite food stores in Manhattan – Poseidon Bakery.  Their spanakopites (spinach pies) and tiropites (cheese pies) have graced many a family event.  I commented on this is we passed the store.  “Maybe we should stop,” I said, mostly in jest.  My son smiled and her brother Steve cackled and turned with a certain look in his eye.  Arla would have loved it.

The post Food: A Rubber Band, Band-Aid, And Nourishment appeared first on Eat Out Eat Well.

. . . And Enjoy Every Bit Of It

We celebrated my Mom’s 90^th birthday this past weekend.  Actually, she has three birthdays – the one on her birth certificate and driver’s license (yes, she still drives), one on her baptismal certificate, and a third that doesn’t appear on anything other than innumerable birthday cards. No explanation for this.

As you can see above, my Mom’s name is Virginia.  This is notable because she is one of thirteen children – and the other 12 all have names like Mary, Helen, and John.  Why Virginia?  “I’m named after the undertaker’s wife,” she said.  Thanks, Mom.  Any other strange bits of trivia hanging around the family tree?

Mom wanted to celebrate her birthday at her family’s annual reunion – with her six living siblings and lots of other family.  Okay, doesn’t everyone drive 3 and ½ hours for lunch?  Off we went with a couple of surprise “picture” cakes hidden in the trunk of the car.

And a surprise it was.   She was delighted – and it showed.  And it was so worth the searching through boxes of pictures, picking up the cakes, and the drive.

Sometimes Celebrations Outweigh The Calories

We eat cake for lots of reasons.  It just may taste delicious.  Maybe it’s your favorite food.  Or, maybe you avoid it like the plague because of calories, fat, sugar, and white flour.  All legitimate reasons if they’re your reasons.

But, there are times when celebrations are important, really important – weddings, baptisms, engagements, holidays, and birthdays, to name a few.  Even funerals and memorial services are often followed by food — and cake — because food is a way of bringing together friends and family.

What’s So Important About The Cake?

Special celebration cakes are designed, made, ordered, and eaten with love.  Sometimes they taste good, sometimes they don’t.  Sometimes “diets” get in the way of the meaning of the cake. Sometimes the regimentation of an eating plan gets in the way of the reason for a celebration.

Sometimes cakes are just cakes – like the ones that sit in the multi-shelved dessert display at the diner.  Those are not celebration cakes.  But the lopsided one that your child makes for you on Mother’s Day, or the multi-tiered one at your or your child’s wedding, or the one for your Mom’s 90^th birthday are very special.

So have a small piece (or a big one if you want) – or eat only a couple of  forkfuls.   Or, if you’re like my cousin, gleefully eat the corner piece (of a rectangular cake) because it has the most icing.

How would you feel if it’s your birthday or wedding and you hand some of your special cake to a friend who says, “No thanks, I’m on a diet”?

Sometimes it’s important to eat cake.

The post Sometimes It’s Important To Eat Cake appeared first on Eat Out Eat Well.