Food: The tradition of Southern funerals

We Southerners are good at a lot of things. Putting people in their place while still sounding sweet (Bless your heart, darling.) Saying things are “just fine” when, in fact, they’re not at all. Waving to others from behind the steering wheel, from across the corn patch, from the front porch.

We do dogs good too. Supper, barbecue, boiled peanuts, summer tomatoes, sipping whiskey and small talk.

Really, there’re so many things that we should give ourselves credit for, including, of all things, funerals. We pull to the side of the road and stop when a funeral procession passes by. In small towns, some of us get out of our cars and take our hats off.

Which brings me to the subject of funeral food.

I was reminded of all this when a family friend who lives in Florida recently lost his wife. It was a sad and sudden event, and in true Southern tradition, a veritable flood of food accompanied the grieving process.

Food filled the family’s refrigerator and freezer. Food covered every countertop in the kitchen.

Food spilled out into temporary storage on the back-stoop steps. Food simply would not quit in its coming, kindness, calories and comfort.

Plates of freshly-filled deviled eggs. Hummingbird cakes. Pound cakes. Hams. Fried chicken.

Breakfast casseroles. Shoot, casseroles of every kind and description.

Some dishes had the requisite piece of masking tape stripped across the bottom of them, with the name of the dish owner written in black Sharpie marker. Others were clearly not family heirlooms and had a different message: “Do Not Return.” And others were – with apologies to Mother Earth – blessedly disposable.

All food brought to the home was dutifully recorded in what I presume was a funeral home-provided book with three sections to be filled out: “Name,” “Food Record –Type of Food and Type of Container,” and “Date Thank You Sent.”

Whew.

What a tradition.

And given my Florida friend’s recent experience, my curiosity about the custom led to several conversations with friends.

One buddy asked if I’d ever heard of a “bosom casserole.”

Nope.

Turns out a bosom casserole is the enticing dish a widow brings to the home of a new widower in an effort to catch his eye.

But why food?

What about flowers?

“Flowers are nice,” said Columbian Anne Wolfe Postic, “but you can’t eat them. Food is practical. You have to have it.”

Anne, who is a contributor to a home-cooking website called Kitchn, should know. Both her parents, Rhett and Kent Wolfe, died within five years of one another.

“It was a big learning experience for me,” Anne said.

First, the tradition of bringing food to the grieving family is a tried and true Southern one.

“I know that,” Anne said, “because my California cousins were so shocked by it.”

So, the best foods to bring to a family in the throes of funeralizing?

Here’re some excerpts from Anne’s Kitchn column entitled “When the Going Gets Tough, My Friends Cook for Me.”

Sandwich trays. “Sandwiches are so easy to grab and eat…They are also perfect for feeding hungry children during a time when adults who usually feed them are too tired or busy to do it.”

Fresh fruit. “…something healthy when you need strength the most.”

Chicken. “It’s all good. Baked in a casserole, fried in pieces, roasted whole…”

Cake. “Sweets can be very comforting. Let me wallow a little.”

Snacks. “A cheese tray is a beautiful thing.”

Paper products. “When you’re grieving, paper products can make all the difference…Some people even brought us toilet paper and paper towels because this would have been a terrible time to run out.”

Beverages, coolers and ice. “Want to be a hero? Offer to stop by once a day and refill the outside coolers with ice.”

Upon reflection about funerals and the proffering of food, Anne was unequivocal: “It’s just the right thing to do. And once it’s been done for you, you know what it feels like. It feels great. It’s a relief. And it’s a comfort.”

And we Southerners love our comforts.

We love our dogs nestled beside us on the couch.

We love our summer tomatoes.

We love the casual wave from behind the steering wheel of a person we don’t know.

And when in the gnarly depths of burying someone we adore, we reach for the casserole offered across the back-door transom.

And we love its coming. Its kindness, calories and comfort.

This story was originally published March 5, 2016 at 10:57 PM with the headline "Food: The tradition of Southern funerals."