Being Southern: Southern Comfort

 I was reared in the foothills of South Carolina, and when someone close to or in our family passed away, my kin were first out of the gate with the grief-comforts of casseroles, macaroni salads, and colorful, oddly-named desserts. It is how we console those who mourn the passing of a loved one – fat, sugar, and condensed soups.

My mother used to whip up a coma-inducing sweet treat called “Better Than Tom Selleck” cake; the original name was “Better Than Sex” cake, but it was awkward at Presbyterian bake sales and covered dish dinners, so my mother changed the name so she wouldn’t have to write or say the word “sex” at church. She would swoop down on the home of the bereaved, place her Pyrex on the mantle, and wrap the grieving party in her best non-makeup/lipstick-smearing hug. Momma would then walk to the kitchen with her friend in tow and have her sit and speak lovingly of the recently departed. Meanwhile, my mother washed, wiped, or cleaned whatever she could find -- dishes, counters, refrigerator shelves -- punctuating her efforts with sympathetic and agreeable nods, inserting “Mmm-Hmmm”s and “Oh, I know”s.

Once, she went four-for-four in identifying other food gifts she spotted in the fridge. “Oh, I see that Grace Ann brought her Mushroom-Cheese and Weenie Pot. And are those Belvah’s Tangelo Fritters? They are soooo good. Oh, look. I didn’t know Rose had been here already, but I’d know that Chili and Frito Pie smell from the top of Paris Mountain. That one’s best for early in the day, dear, if you know what I mean.” She lifted a bucket from the top shelf and placed it on the counter.”Now I know that Paul brought this chicken from Bi-Lo, but bless his heart, if he tried to cook something in his own kitchen, he’d have to rent his spare bedroom to the volunteer fire dept in Pendleton. Let’s put that out for folks stopping by.” Four-for-four.

You see, Southerners are moved to comfort the ill and afflicted, and those who are in grief. But rather than the awkward and empty sounding funereal phrases, we comfort those we love with our proudest offerings of solace wrapped in puff pastry, pie shells, and crock pots. The recipients assess the gifts accurately, and respond with “You shouldn’t have’s” and “Thank you soooo much’s”, and my favorite, “Well, aren’t you just the most precious thing?”

Southern kindness is often measured in calories.