My father-in-law passed away last week. He'd only partially recovered from a stroke in March and when it became obvious his life wasn't the shit it once was, we hoped he wouldn't linger too long in a truly crappy state of being, while at the same time we dreaded his final moments.
He is our first parent to go. We've mourned our great-grandparents and our grandparents. The generational gap softened the blow, because we couldn't quite connect their deaths to our mortality. They were old. In our memories, they were always old. A parent is too close for comfort. We remember their young faces, their middle-aged faces, and – the shock -- when old takes over like a malicious, rogue photoshop program, pinching their eyes at the corners, spotting their skin with copper coins, adding a crumpled tissue overlay.
Preparing for the funeral, I drive to the farmer's market and buy everything in sight, indiscriminately, and I have no explanation for the five pounds of green peanuts in my buggy. I don't think anyone has ever attended a funeral and thought – You know what would be great right now? Some boiled peanuts.
While I wonder it if would be appropriate to serve the boiled peanuts, my husband wonders if it would be appropriate to take pictures. It has been a long time since everyone has gathered and the opportunity for a family portrait might not happen again for a long while. I remind him that until the late 70's my family had our dead delivered to our living room, where the body would lie in full view all day and night and that I have many group photos of us crowded around an open casket. My favorite is quite recent: Nannie's lifeless, spackled face at the center with my cousins Jess and Laurianne leaning in. Laurianne has black mascara tears marking her cheeks like gang "kill" tatts, and both of them are smiling reflexively, tremulously.
My husband agrees that people clustered around an urn won't be as ghastly as that, and he packs his camera, while I pack up casseroles and pound cakes. I decide the boiled peanuts are too festive and leave them at home.
Later that night, wrung-out and fitful, we lie awake and plan our own far-off funerals. Befitting his quiet demeanor (and utter lack of imagination), my husband says he wants to be cremated, an intimate service, the ashes scattered on the waters where he sails his boat.
My plans are more elaborate and contingent upon my appearance at the time of my death. If I die before I have willfully let myself go, while I might still be described (under advantageous lighting) as "attractive," I want to donate my body to medicine. I am not extraordinarily vain, but I am relatively certain that within medical schools there must be a higher value placed upon better-looking cadavers, and I'm competitive enough and proud enough that I don't want to be grouped at the bottom with a hoary, misshapen specimen the students have nicknamed "Cletus."
At best, I have ten years to bequeath an attractive cadaver and I hope to last a bit longer, so I've made alternate plans. There is a green cemetery at the upper end of the county, where you can tip your raw, unpackaged loved one into a hole, shovel dirt on top and plant something to mark the spot. I want blackberry bushes. I want tables set up under the trees and covered with my vintage tablecloths. I want mustard greens, macaroni and cheese, yellow squash, okra and tomatoes, mashed rutabagas, cornbread, a keg of good beer and a bag of oysters if the month contains an "r." One table is to be filled entirely with cakes and pies. I want a live band that contains at least one banjo player. Dogs are expressly invited.
When the keg is empty and everyone is overstuffed and sweaty from dancing, they'll leave with a damp brown bag filled with boiled peanuts, and weeks, months, even years later, they'll find a peanut shell in the oddest place and maybe they'll think of me and believe I might be thinking of them as well.
This is the macaroni and cheese I want. I made it for my father-in-law's funeral -- thinking of him every step of the way; it's perfectly acceptable to cry into the sauce -- and for all the others I've lost for as long as I've been cooking. Obviously, if I'm under shrubbery, I will have to trust someone else to make it for me. If you want your dish back, you should put a strip of medical tape on the bottom and write your name across it. I still find dishes marked with my grandmother's tape. Or these days you can buy disposable 13 x 9 aluminum pans.
Fit-for-a-Funeral Mac and Cheese
1 lb elbow macaroni (cooked al dente, according to package directions, being careful not to overcook because it will get softer as it bakes. And be sure to liberally salt the water.)
1/3 cup sweet onion finely diced
1/4 cup butter
1/3 cup flour
1 and 1/2 cup vegetable stock or chicken stock
4 cups whole milk
2 Tbsp Worcestershire sauce
1 Tbsp ground yellow mustard
1 or 2 tsp Crystal hot sauce (or other mild hot sauce)
1/2 tsp garlic powder
8 oz extra sharp cheddar cheese, grated
8 oz fontina cheese, grated (or any other good melting cheese you like)
Kosher salt to taste
1 cup crushed crackers or bread crumbs
3 Tbsp butter melted
In a large sauce pan (big enough to accommodate the sauce and a pound of elbow macaroni), melt the butter and cook the onion until it is soft but not brown.
Add the flour and stir for two or three minutes to cook the raw flour. Add the stock slowly and whisk so that it doesn't get lumpy. Add the milk and whisk over medium heat until it thickens. Add the Worcestershire sauce, ground mustard, hot sauce, garlic powder and both cheeses and stir until the cheese is melted.
Taste for salt and mix in the cooked macaroni. The sauce will still be a little loose and it will look like there is too much of it, but the macaroni will soak it up as it bakes. Pour into a 13 x 9 inch pan. (The disposable pans can be flimsy, so put it on a cookie sheet while you fill and bake it.)
Mix together the crackers or bread crumbs and butter and sprinkle over the top. Bake at 350 for about 45 minutes, or until bubbly. If the top isn't brown enough, you can broil the top for a little bit to make it crunchy.
To freeze: refrigerate the dish and once it is throughly cold you can cut it into rectangles, wrap in plastic wrap and then in foil.
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Comments
And, I'm sorry for your loss. Truly.
r.
If you're going to have the menu above, I'll definitely be at your funeral, Bell! That macaroni and cheese looks about perfect. (My mother wants a green burial, BTW. Also, I think you might find this book quite interesting: Stiff - The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach.)
That said, everytime I see a peanut shell I'll think of you, .I don't see too many peanut shells so it won't be weird.
Great writing. So many fine sentences and thoughts. Never have thought about those mean old medical students mocking me if I look bad when I die. Interesting motivation to not let oneself go.
I did smile at your the conditions of your own funeral! The mac and cheese looks fabulous~
Now, I think you’ll appreciate this little tidbit as your title reminded me of my nephew’s comment back a way bit, when I asked him why his research work was taking him to Tennessee. (We live in California.) His answer: “Tennessee has better cadavers.”
Apparently, death does become some better than others. Who knew?
There is a very nice Swedish film called Everlasting Moments, about a real woman who became a famous photographer in the early 20th century. She would take portraits of people who had passed away so their family could remember them (photos were so rare then) and somehow made them all look just like sleeping spirits.
As to your cadaver, go ahead and read Mary Roach's book Stiff, and then consider what part of the cadaver world of medicine you would like to be appropriated to. It's fascinating, slightly repulsive, and extremely funny. Beautiful cadavers make easy dissection, but schools are on the way out with that, using pro-section for most basic med school classes. My cadaver (at school) was morbidly obese and had all sorts of diseases, blackened lungs, enlarged heart, etc, and it was really cool to see what happens instead of just pathology slides. I, however, will donate my ashes to the wind and waters, Viking style.
I want my ashes scattered in my favorite park, and I want a memorial bench for people to sit on. No headstone. No graveyard. A bench in a park where people can sit and rest and see the trees.
I'm so sorry for your loss.
What a wonderful post. It was recently asked if there was too much food writing. The answer quite clearly is: not if it's like this.
See if your estate can pay for a gravesite banjo player in perpetuity. You'll definitely be remembered. The kids' inheritance? Pfft.
"...while I might still be described (under advantageous lighting) as "attractive, ..." reminds me of a Stephen Sondheim lyric from A Little Night Music:
"... A,
I could put on my nightshirt or sit
Disarmingly,
B, in the nude.
That might be effective;
My body's all right--
But not in perspective
And not in the light."
However, the part about the medicinal tape with my name on it cracked me up, because I still find dishes marked with tape with "Neighbors" (my grandmother's last name) on then and I do the same thing with my dishes now. Great mac n cheese recipe. You need someone to remember to bring the pimento cheese too! :)
May your father-in-law rest in eternal peace.
Lezlie
Lezlie
Now then, to Janie: I feel the same way about reading one of Bell's pieces. But then I felt the same way when I read you last two pieces. I feel that way every time I read one of the exceptional pieces so many of us here post so frequently that it's wonder I'm not cowering under my desk sucking my thumb and trying to figure out a way to start a literary agency to represent everyone here except me. Only problem is, I don't know any editors in the fancy publishing houses, so I'd be a fraud from the git-go.
I think we all here humble and inspire each other with our individual voices and points of view. This place is bursting with glorious talent. It's a damned shame OS either doesn't recognize what it has or is too cheap to take better advantage of it.
Not meaning to hijack your post, Bell, but I can't think of a more hospitable place to say what I've just said. You are golden, and your glister reflects wonderfully on us all.
I am sorry for your loss. I did enjoy your post.
And I also wanted to tell you that there aren't many recipes from OS that I print out and keep in my special purple three-ring binder, but this is one of them, as is your vegetarian gravy from last Thanksgiving, a double batch of which I have just finished.
Matt -- No invitations necessary. Just come on.
Gracie -- Pinkie swear! Although I refuse to believe I will ever pass into haggie-land. We will pretend.
Joan -- And I you. Seriously.
Mumble -- I have heard of this Vermont funeral pie, and the horror of a pie that you eat only at funerals is oddly appealing. You will have to share the recipe.
Greenheron -- I'd love to have strangers -- a mosh pit! -- crash my funeral.
Jonathan -- I'm sure you know exactly what's ahead of us. Best wishes to you and your family.
Linnn -- Perfect? I'm always certain I misspelled something or used a word twice or could have chosen a better word...these thoughts keep me awake. But I thank you!
Jeanette -- I have read Mary Roach's book and I loved it. I got a kick out of the chapter about the Body Farm. To donate your body for that, that's selflessness!
Bea -- I hope your son will be joining you and Superchef for Thanksgiving. I was just informed that our son will NOT be here for Christmas (he'll be on a sailing trip) and I'm already mourning.
Boanerges -- That's a lovely idea. The trees. Or being smoked. Both.
Jane -- You make me swoon. I loved your most recent piece and all that you managed to say and the structure of it. (There does need to be an OS literary agency of some sort, though, don't you think?)
Fingerlakes -- My plans keep changing. One day I'll have to put it all down on paper, but that would make it final.
Fernsy -- Not weird at all. But I'll bet that from now on you'll start seeing peanut shells EVERYWHERE! Like a curse.
Susie -- I did tell my husband that if I go before my parents he's just supposed to let them do whatever they want. That means I'll be stuffed like a prized kill and placed in the dining room for an appearance at all family gatherings.
JustanotherAJ -- That is fascinating! It would be interesting to know if his experiences have matched his expectations.
Trilogy -- Your sentence reminded me that I do not eat meat -- cadavers and mac and cheese. I used to make a great chicken, broccoli and pasta casserole with the leftover chicken carcass back when we ate chicken, boiling the bones to get that last bit of remaining meat.
Sorry about your father-in-law. When I put a name on the bottom of a dish, I will forever remember this piece.
Froggy -- I like your plan!
Keri-h -- The only thing missing would be bridemaids (funeralmaids?) dresses. I'd love to force my friends into another hideous, expensive and uncomfortable dress, just for kicks. Also, I'm a sucker for food writing in any form.
Sweetfeet -- It's a difficult subject. I'm glad you didn't find it too painful to read.
Stim -- Now that's an idea! I was reading a story about a dog in China who stood vigil at his master's grave for a week. So, here's my thinking -- if I could teach one of my dogs to play banjo...
Sophieh -- I do wonder if other families have similar photos, of family gathered around a family corpse. Whenever I talk about our country wakes everyone seems horrified. Like they think I'm talking about 1879 rather than 1979.
Felicia -- He was very appreciative of my cooking and just a very kind man in general. Thank you!
Deborah -- Green chili??!!! Nothing excites me like those two words. I hope you'll post a recipe soon.
Frank -- You're hired! Do you know any mandolin players? Because I want one of those too.
Midwest -- That old medical tape must be super-industrial, because I've found it attached to just about every bowl I inherited from my Nannie. Now I can't bring myself to tear it off and I wash those dishes by hand so that it doesn't come off in the dishwasher. I love those pieces of tape.
Lezlie -- You mean other people don't worry about medical students dissing their cadaver? Huh.
Owl -- Even death can't taint macaroni and cheese. After I've typed that, it sounds wrong, but nevertheless true.
Tom -- I can just imagine the music festival that would become your funeral. Many many years from now.
Divorcedpauline -- It will be my finest party. And I'll be there to enjoy it. Says the atheist.
Chrissie -- Yep! I forgot to request a square dance caller!
Hugs -- Go for the extra cheese. It's never a mistake. Let me know how it turns out. You're sweet to take in a holiday stray.
Matt -- Hijack away. I love the discussions that develop when that happens. I did enjoy Jane's last piece immensely, and it makes you wonder if there isn't a market out there for an OS Literary Agency.
Cindy -- I'd be hard pressed to name a situation that wouldn't be considerably improved with cheese.
LibSoDem -- I hope your aunt left you with a recipe box!? That's like the greatest gift anyone can bequeath, other than, perhaps, an attractive cadaver that might help in the cure for cancer.
Grif -- I love the idea that you combine reunion and memorial. It always seems to work out that way anyhow, so why not make it a celebration and let ourselves take joy in seeing people we haven't seen in ages?
Jeanette -- I'll be making that vegetarian gravy on Thursday to serve over mashed rutabagas , which I love love love! I'm so glad you've enjoyed it as much as I do. Let me know if you try the mac and cheese. (If you're a strict vegetarian, remember that Worcestershire sauce has anchovies in it. You can buy vegetarian Worcestershire sauce at places that cater to vegetarians.)
As for your own afterlife plans, you’ve an interesting turn of mind. I like the idea of a blackberry bush better than a tombstone. Here’s hoping you live to disappoint those med students.
Your touch with words as unerring as with ingredients. I'm sorry for your and your husband's loss, Bell. Though your father-in-law's passing seems to lean toward the "blessing" category, it always hurts. Your sendoff sounds perfect (though, personally, I think there should be pizza). Not a surprise, that.
As always, the post as a whole was interesting to me in 6,000 ways AND beautifully written. I actually got home from "working" a funeral last night and read this the first time; they did take pictures, and lots of folks do because it's the only time everybody gets together. There was a body, but it stayed in the casket and out of the pictures. I would adore your funeral festivities from oysters to dogs, although I would be terribly sad because I'd miss you.
Rated for That's Life (yes, I hear ol' Frank's voice).
2.) ALWAYS a good time for boiled peanuts! perfect talking food, good use of hands, just made some last week.
3.) I agree with Linnnn...perfect!
RRR
Nor, I might add, have I ever seen such a complicated mac & cheese recipe. But if it tastes as tart and surprising as your story, I'd be more than satisfied and definitely would ask for seconds.
I've had this issue before on OS but I don't like (personally), the use of "we" in a blog piece. It seems exclusionary, like you're speaking for a group. I'd prefer you just speaking for yourself. But that's just me.
Cranky -- I appreciate your condolences and your kind words.
Abrawang -- Glad you like the idea of an edible tombstone. Maybe I should also ask for tomatoes.
Pilgrim -- I remember your post about the awesome pizzas you make.
Dirndl -- Stouffers is usually pretty sufficient if you're talking mac and cheese. No reason to make a big casserole of it for everyday eating. In fact having a big casserole of it around is dangerous! (I made it for Thanksgiving and I just ate a big bowl of it for breakfast. My treadmill is calling....)
Deborah -- You can never know too many banjo players.
Franish -- I'll have to think about what other foods belong on the happy list. Hmmm. I hope you had an excellent Turkey Day as well. I'm betting everything was delicious.
Ann -- I've wondered if it's a Southern thing, everyone taking photos around an open casket. No one seems to think it's ghoulish at all. I think I will have to add "no photos of my corpse" to my will.
Seer -- I always prefer smiling over crying, even if your smiling while you're crying.
Raymond -- I'd think the boiled peanuts would only be appropriate for an outdoor affair, otherwise the church aisles would be littered with peanut shells.
Alysa -- Thank you. :)
Lucy -- Perfect! I'll add that.
littlewillie -- That sounds like a very bad dream. But I like it!
Jeremiah -- No one ever wants to be called "Cletus." As for the mac and cheese, you can always open a blue box and follow the directions. I like that kind too.
Jersey -- That's what my husband and I kept thinking too -- our mind racing ahead to our own final days. The very worst kind of time travel.
Beth -- By "we" I was speaking for my husband and myself and our experiences and I hoped those feelings would be familiar to others who had shared those experiences, but now that I reread it I can see what you mean. The "we" might be taken to read universal and presumptuous. I'll definitely pay more attention to that construction in the future.
I don't get out much, but love stopping by to see you here at your OS house. BTW, I love M&C but it doesn't love me -- so sad.
PS--If # 1 Son ever gets to NZ, he has a place to stay. #1 Daughter will be there for years now that she's engaged and they're planning life as professional sailing cruise Captains (licenses and everything!). It is mournful to have them gone on holidays, indefinitely.
r