Food for Mourning

[stefanyb]

What do you usually have at wakes, shiva etc.?

My most intense memory is of Bartons Almond Kisses, an almond wrapped in chocolate caramel, chewy, crunchy, sweet and chocolatey.

Edited December 31, 2002 by stefanyb (log)

[Sandra Levine]

Hard-boiled eggs are traditional for their symbolism -- life goes on, etc.

[g.johnson]

Sandwiches and cake are traditional in Britain, with tea. Usually very bad sandwiches made with Mother’s Pride (= Wonder Bread) and a single slice of tasteless boiled ham. If you are lucky you’ll get smoked salmon on Hovis (= wholewheat Wonder Bread). When we buried the father-in-law, though, we bought in a lot of Marks and Spencer (= erm, don’t know the equivalent. Sort of up-market supermarket + mid-market clothes store*.) finger food**. Indiany things and cheesy things. With a lot of whisky. Scotland, don’t ya know.

*A concept that gets weirder the more I think about it.

** I suspect that this is a growing trend.

[Lord Michael Lewis]

Squid in its ink.

[jaybee]

Spit (my own).

Edited December 31, 2002 by jaybee (log)

[Steve Plotnicki]

Jews have a limited menu at shivas.

1. Deli platters

2. Smoked fish platters

3. Fruit baskets

4. Cookie platters

5. Babka

A good shiva has all of those things for the guests to pig out on.

[Kikujiro]

Marks and Spencer (= erm, don’t know the equivalent. Sort of up-market supermarket + mid-market clothes store*.)

*A concept that gets weirder the more I think about it.

* now run by Vittorio Radice, previously responsible for reinventing Selfridges. I can hardly wait ...

[VivreManger]

I hope the new Marks&Sparks doesn't drop the chicken tikka and freshly-squeezed oj. That was my on-the run London meal of choice, pre Pret a Manger.

[Tonyfinch]

British Jews have these spongy sweet rolls called "bridge rolls" (no idea why) on which they spread smoked salmon, chopped herring and cream cheese (sometimes all at once) They have mini Danish pastries and they serve tea.

If you're coming back to the house after a funeral they'll be a very small dram of scotch or sweet cherry brandy.

Which reminds me that,as a kid, the alcoholic cure all was cherry brandy mixed with advocaat (sigh. how I miss the culture of the haim, don't you?)

Edited January 1, 2003 by Tonyfinch (log)

[Rachel Perlow]

My mom made sure there were hard boiled eggs on Friday (my Uncle died on the 25th after a long bout with pancreatic cancer) for after the funeral. We also had a deli platter with the various salads, cookies, fruit. On Sunday some co-workers called wanting to send some food over. They offered to send sloppy joes (the deli kind), figuring they'd be sick of the kosher oven-fried chicken we usually see after funerals, and my mom didn't have the heart to tell them they'd been eating deli all weekend. My dad sent me a doc with "Jewish Death and Mourning Customs" here is the bit about food:

The shivah period begins after the interment with a simple meal, the seudat havra'ah, the meal of consolation. There is a custom to rinse one's hands with water before entering the house for the meal. This meal, traditionally provided by family and friends for the mourners, is not meant to serve as a social following the funeral. Since it is a time to rest and contemplate the day's events, only family and closest of friends should attend. A party-like atmosphere should not be allowed to develop. The menu for this meal traditionally includes hard-boiled eggs, a symbol of life, and simple foods.  Neither meat nor wine, two symbols of joy, should be served at this meal.

Um, we had meat and wine. But now I know why after funeral meals used to be bagels & spreads.

For the non-Jews reading along, if you are paying a shivah call (visiting during the week after a death) it is appropriate to bring some food or send something ahead (like a fruit basket, or call the local kosher deli to send a meal, even if your friends aren't kosher), but it is contrary to Jewish custom to send flowers.

[g.johnson]

In some parts of Britain it was traditional for a ‘sin eater’ to eat a loaf of bread from the coffin and so take upon himself the deceased’s sins.

[Gavin Jones]

In Ireland one is likely to pay a visit to the deceased on the night before burial. Then drink a bit.

This is certainly what I did with OTC, though going to look at the corpse on the way back from the pub was maybe superfluous.

[Rail Paul]

In Ireland one is likely to pay a visit to the deceased on the night before burial. Then drink a bit.

My Irish relatives in the US have maintained the tradition.

Although the flask usually stays outside the funeral home, a retreat to the nearest public house is expected following (or during) the viewing. In the time of my uncles, this was a male only trip. It is now a co-educational effort.

[Doolittle]

Brooklyn-Italian platters of eggplant parmigiana, baked ziti, veal & peppers, chicken francese, and lots of bread and wine (gallon size jugs).

[stefanyb]

If you're coming back to the house after a funeral they'll be a very small dram of scotch or sweet cherry brandy.

Cherry Heering, yes, thats right!

[Jason Perlow]

Brooklyn-Italian platters of eggplant parmigiana, baked ziti, veal & peppers, chicken francese, and lots of bread and wine (gallon size jugs).

I should have been born Italian.

[tommy]

I should have been born Italian.

italians know how to mourn, the *right* way.

[Jason Perlow]

I should have been born Italian.

italians know how to mourn, the *right* way.

Everything else is just for tourists.

[Wilfrid]

British Jews have these spongy sweet rolls called "bridge rolls" (no idea why) on which they spread smoked salmon, chopped herring and cream cheese (sometimes all at once)

Eek, and not only the Jews, Tony. That brings back some memories. Bridge rolls.

But I remember a small chain of Jewish bakers in London that produced rather pleasant filled bridge rolls - Grodzynsky's (spelling?).

[Suvir Saran]

My maternal grandmother (Nani) passed away earlier this evening.

She had been in ICU for 11 weeks in Orange County where she had had a heart attack the morning she and my grandfather were going to be taking their flight back to San Francisco, where they lived in a grand home in the Marina District.

Nani was the reason I got into cooking. A woman born with a diamond studded spoon, she cooked almost daily for she felt it was important for the "lady of the house" to add her touch to all foods served at the table. The staff would follow her instructions and learn from her and assist her. She was unlike my paternal grandmother (who sat in a chair and gave instructions) an active cook and a brilliant one. Her smile and beauty could stop just about any human being, but her love and affection and delicious food would give them a hope that she would open her home to them for a lifetime. Which she did for everyone. Within a short time, in this land where old age can be lonely, sad and different in comparison to India (where family and kids are ones social security), she had created a fantasy land for my grandfather and herself. It was unbelievable how many friends they had made. And how men and women, young and old, would consider their home one they would call that of a parent.

It was from her that I learned how to bake my famous pound cakes that have been celebrated by the likes of Gael Greene for being some of the best they have ever eaten. She had lived in Japan during the war where my grandfather was serving in her majesties armed forces as an information officer. She played host to my grandfather when he became a powerful and revered bureaucrat. In their kitchen in Delhi, one could eat foods from India but also other parts of the world. Cakes, pastries, chocolates, muffins, puddings, custards, ice creams, sorbets, gelatos and more were made by her in India and then in San Francisco where the two of them retired.

Having suffered a stroke and living with serious diabetes related problems, cataract that could not be operated due to diabetes and angina, she was as strong and brave a woman as I have ever known and fear will ever know. From royal blood, she married a man who was Gandhian and very spare. But their romance was strong and their flirtations with each other were inspiring to all of us in their know. 60 plus years after having been married, they still knew just what to do to make each other blush. My grandfather called me with the news and said he had been kissed on the cheek by her just moments before she moved onto the next stage in her souls journey.

She had also called and said her goodbye to my parents in India (barely a few moments before kissing my grandpa) who sadly were unable to be at her bedside for grave reasons of their own. I know she had asked my mother and her siblings to make a promise that till his dying day, my grandfather would be fed the very foods she prepared for him daily. She would even after 60 odd years of being married to him, peel his fruit (even grapes, and only supremes of citrus and served daily, since it was his source of "natural vitamin C"), slice it into bite sized pieces, served him perfect portions of dishes at the table and made sure the flatware and plate and bowls were placed just in the way he was used to finding them.

With a walker that had shelves, she prepared three fresh meals for both of them daily. Most days they had visitors for dinner. People much younger (non Indian for the most part), neighbors that had taken to them as parents or grandparents they could never have in their own families. So, these two grand old people had built for themselves a family of strangers that called them mom and dad, or aunt and uncle or simply grandpa and grandma. In her kitchen I would find the tastiest sugar free muffins and scones for breakfast and tea. Made from scratch. Cookies made as they would have been made in England of yesteryears, where my grandfather first learned how to indulge in tea as a ceremony. Tea was never the masala chai that Indians drank in their home, it was served as one would expect in a high style in a hotel or restaurant of another era. In India they had bearers do this in their home, in SF, my grandma had organized her kitchen so as to enable her to do it all with a walker and sheer will power.

My nieces and nephews ate pastries, Indian foods and all kinds of home made jams and jellies prepared by this grand old woman their great-grandmother. She would feed these toddlers as she had fed us and our parents. These kids born in the US, were told great stories about our culture and family. She was grandma to kids of the neighbors and these neighbors would tell us how my grandparents gave affection to their kids like no one else had ever expressed.

Their backyard that looked onto the gardens of the Palace of Fine Arts had citrus trees that were used by her to prepare pickles and chutneys. Clever grandma would freeze the juice of these lemons, limes and meyer lemons so as to be able to use them when there were no fruits on the trees.

My co-writer, Stephanie Lyness, a CT girl, was from the Bay Area, she was in SF last year and I am so glad she was able to see my grandma prepare Aloo Parathas (potato stuffed flat breads) and Gobi Paratha (cauliflower stuffed flat breads) for us for lunch. Grandma refused to let me or my mom or Stephanie help. We each ate several parathas and resting one hand on her walker, she must have prepared at least 30 or 40 of these flatbreads. From scratch. And she did this often. Chapatis (griddle baked very fine flatbread) that are considered tedious by most Indian chefs, were made by her for dinner daily. Lunch was "American Style" as she would say. Salads, home baked breads, pastas, soups, stews, sandwiches etc...

Today, as I was leaving the Asia Society after the performance by my own music teacher, I left happy that I received the news of her demise whilst hearing my teacher sing songs that grandma enjoyed. I knew then, not to leave the theater for something told me that Grandma would have wanted to be with me at this performance. I believe she was. My teacher sang better than she has ever sung in performance. She was magical. And afterwards, when I mentioned the news to her, she hugged me and said she sang for me today. She said something in my eyes as she looked at me from the stage, had told her she was being told by powers beyond her to sing for Suvir. I was in tears.

I came home and prepared corn bread and beans. Nani (grandma) made cornbread better than Grandma Hayes or most American grandmas that have prepared it for me. Nani made hers with lots of corn kernels and also a copious amount of cilantro and jalapeno and just enough onions to give the sweet bread a wonderfully savory flavor. She also made amazing corn muffins. There was a secret to why her corn bread and corn muffins tasted so much better than others most of us who knew her had ever had. I hope to share that secret in my next book. She had made me promise that I would only share it in my book and not before. It was something simple she did to the corn, but a simple trick I have never seen mentioned in recipe books. She had said it in passing when she shared this trick that it would be her little way of coming alive for me long after leaving her body.

I did not have enough time to prepare my beans using dried beans. But I went to our local grocery store and bought canned beans and without any shame, I prepared beans as grandma would have (in the last few years, old age and broken bones and a weak body had made her understand the magic of canned beans).. and they were delicious. Grandma taught me to love food and enjoy cooking and above all learn to cook only those dishes that I could cook without ego, misery and drama. She always reminded me that if I needed to be congratulated for my efforts, I might as well not make the effort. That was wrong according to her. Cooking was about sharing ones passion as freely and carelessly as one can. Not about wanting to boast and for affirmation. She always said food was meant to be simple and sacred. Not another game that us mortals played with life.

Today, eating her corn bread and beans, we, those that ate in my kitchen, were in tears of happiness. Grandma left me and my friends and family in her physical being, but the lessons she shared with one and all will be alive for years to come. She moved lives of my friends even more deeply than she did with the rest of us. We took her for granted, or rather we had gotten used to her brilliant aura, but strangers would want to know her for even in her most amazing physical and compelling beauty, she had a way of finding something special in all and smiling for those that had little if any self worth. She was able to show everyone a reason to live and celebrate.

My father, if all goes well, will hopefully arrive in LA for her memorial and his own tryst with destiny. Once that happens, we will mark this moment in our families history with a feast. I shall post about it at that time. Till then, this simple meal I shared with a few, will be my food of comfort as I mourn the loss of the greatest woman to have touched my life.

Edited January 14, 2003 by Suvir Saran (log)

[anil]

My maternal grandmother (Nani) passed away earlier this evening.

My deepest condolences, Suvir - I know exactly how you feel. nani's have a special place in the hearts of many people. Specially young boys growing up in India.

[anil]

In India; among Hindus ( punjabis that I speak of) , the tradition is that there is no fire (i.e cooking till) the "Chautha" fourth day. So, neighbours, relatives take turns to bring food for the mourners - i.e breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner.

Depending on what type of rituals one adheres to, on the fourth day - There is a reading of texts and fire ceremony - called Havan. After the havan, there is a mini-feast - Which a Halwai - a master chef prepares a meal. After that, there is a 10th and a 14th day ceremony, a feast follows all.

Depending on one's financial ability, a trip to the river Ganges takes place - One immerses the ashes in the river and feed the poor who are on the temple premises. While one may not have cooked the meal to feed the poor, one does serve to all the poor who are there at that day.

Among the Sikhs; one goes to the Gurudwara, and feed the faithful at a "langar" simple meal that is cooked is served. Many volunteer at the Gurudwara's kitchen that day.

Edited January 14, 2003 by anil (log)

[Suvir Saran]

Thanks Anil.

I have not been able to sleep tonight. I hardly feel the need to. I have just finished reading a few chapters of the Gita. And they were most helpful in this time.

I believe in our family we do observe the Chautha (4th day) and also the Gyaarveen (11th day).

Not sure what is going to happen. My father is gravely ill. But we are hoping to do the pooja (prayer) only after we are able to fly him here.

Whilst you are correct about no fire, Anil, I live with a non-Indian life partner, and such sensibilities whilst known to a fine Indian man like yourself, are not clear to a non-Indian. I hardly expect anything from others. I did not even think of that possibility. But I know my grandfather was happy I prepared these two dishes. He was quite happy actually, and we chatted on the phone and discussed the Gita and the writings of Vivekananda.

Thanks for your warm note. And thanks for sharing with the membership the finer nuances of the Hindu mourning rituals.

[kpurvis]

At the risk of using a posting board to my own ends, I have to confess that I read this thread with more than the usual interest. I am in the midst of researching a book on this subject, specifically on funeral foods in ethnic groups.

I wondered: Would any of you who replied be willing for me to contact you by back-channel? I am particularly interested in finding several generations of a family that would be interviewed for the book. I'd like to hear stories of how things used to be observed, how they are observed now, and what each generation misses about food rituals that have disappeared.

To save anyone the time of looking up my member profile, I'm a newspaper food journalist in Charlotte, N.C., and my e-mail address is kpurvis@charlotteobserver.com.

Thanks in advance for any feedback anyone can offer. This is a richer and deeper subject than even I expected when I began my research.

[Dana]

My sympathies as well, Suvir. Grandmas are some of the most treasured and honored people on the planet, as well they should be. Nothing is warmer than a grandma's hug. I miss mine still, even 15 years after her passing. Those of us who knew our grandmas are the luckiest people on earth.