Comfort food
“I had the strangest dream last night,” my husband reported — as he does most mornings. “I dreamed about goulash. That sounds so good.”
“Hmm. I haven’t made that in a long time,” I said. For some reason goulash had also crossed my mind earlier. My mother used to make it often: a cheap, easy, filling meal. I could not remember exactly how to make it. The Internet yielded several ideas that
I combined. I added special seasoning to cooked hamburger and sausage before adding heaps of chopped and sauteed onions, celery, broccoli, green peppers, cooked pasta shells and spaghetti sauce. Not the way my mom used to prepare it for her five children. It smelled and tasted great.
We each scarfed it up a large serving, considered seconds and decided we shouldn’t. With mandated social isolation on top of six weeks of home recovery from hip replacement, we have already been eating comfort food to remind us of happier days. We didn’t need extra servings.
We liked it so much that I posted on Facebook, “Made goulash for the first time in a while. Tasty supper.”
My darling daughter replied, “I am not a picky eater AT ALL…. but goulash is by far my least favorite dish.”
And my little brother (for whom I cooked many years) wrote, “I agree.”
Okay so not their favorites. But comfort food according to my definition: “I don’t care how many calories it has, I’m unhappy and I want this food. I will feel happier if I eat it.” Evidently I have needed comfort food frequently the past couple weeks. At least, that’s my explanation for the baking spree in the kitchen. Besides making chocolate cake with vanilla frosting like my mom made, I made a spice cake. This time I skipped a cream cheese frosting and went way back to the day my mom taught me how to make penuche frosting. Cook brown sugar with butter and milk in a saucepan over heat. Stir until it thickens then quickly mix with confectionery sugar and vanilla. It makes a delightful caramel fudge frosting. After days of isolation, I gravitated to comfort food. I wanted to eat all the frosting. Instead I controlled myself and spread it over the spice cake. I frosted the cake and made sure I had plenty in the bowl. I also swiped a few spoonfuls from around the edge of the cake.
Seeking more comfort, I pulled a couple of pie shells from the chest freezer and decided it was time to use those peeled and frozen apples to make a Dutch apple pie. I enjoyed every bite I didn’t have to share with hubby. The other crust I reserved for lemon pie - another childhood favorite. I do like my carbs and desserts. All of which probably explains my need for chubby girl clothes as a child.
It had been years since I made a lemon meringue pie. I couldn’t find a lemon pudding mix at the store. So I pulled out the 1950s Betty Crocker cookbook along with sugar, lemon juice, water, cornstarch and egg yolks. Measure, stir, bring to a boil and pour in the shell. I whipped the egg whites to shiny peaks and baked the meringue to a perfectly glowing brown top. My pride in such a perfect pie almost kept me from eating it. Almost. Then, I put my fork into one perfect piece and had a perfect first bite followed by many others.
My plans for more comfort foods ended when the oven totally quit working leaving me with partially baked cornbread, my last comfort food. It definitely is time for this social isolation to end, or I will be shopping for a whole new wardrobe.