comfort foods: why i ever left this place, i still dont know
by Michele Christopher

After the wonderful recipe that no one is going to try to make by Baby Huey earlier today, we thought it would be a great follow up to do this as our late night typing.

Comfort Food

Don't ask how it got that lame ass name. I don't know how it got associated with being comfy or anything like that. In fact the whole name sounds like it was made up by "Francis" the Head Chef at the local "Free Gay Buffet". All I know is that this is some of the best food there is.

It's something that you always wanted and never forgot. Fuck the name, this is about the food.

Wanna read ours?

Here we go!

turtle gets all Ragu on you


No. I am not Italian. No. I don’t shave everyday. No. My old country has never won a World War. But hey dude, we made an alliance with the Italians during WW II. Maybe that's why I like Italian food so much. Fuck, you can only eat so many soft tacos in a day before you start wondering when you have to swim the river and get a job picking tomatoes in the "land of freedom". Soft tacos are not comfort food.

But, lasagna. The only way to make it was the way mom made it. 100 percent German lady making this wonderful dish. I could smell it being cooked three days away from some place I called home. The leftovers. The garlic bread. I was safe now. The war was over. A food alliance between the losers of too many wars put their only skills together and my mom came out the winner. Don’t bother ever buying it for me or making it for me.

It's been tried. And like Hitler killing himself, it has been lost.

I can only eat mom's lasagna. The rest is just soft tacos. And I don't want to pick blackberries in the field again._tn_SwimmingRiver.jpg And the Rio Grande is fucking cold for god’s sake.

I ain't swimming that fucker again without a gun to my back.


Yes I took a sucker bet out of this one, but the way mama makes it is so perfect. Another food to never try to make me. It just won't work. Four family members all putting out their cigarettes in the wasted catsup of the after meal plates as they rub their tummies. A habit picked up that I still do today. But, I use cigars now. If I put out a cigar after I ate your food right in the middle of the plate? It means good job. And it also means that you are lucky these aren't the Roman Times or I would find a vomitorium and show you what a proper meal you have made and how I wanted more.

Tomato Soup and Grilled Cheese

Let's be honest here. This is jail food. You might remember this as your mama feeding it to you when you were in bed with the flu, but in jail, it's called "Tuesday".artestgrchs.jpg Don't get me wrong. Nothing about this reminds me of being in jail or prison and for god’s sake that doesn't make me feel comfy. But, just the taste of the cheese in the soup as you watch golf all day long naked with just a blanket on, it's comfy.

Sunday with a cigar. Watching TV while wondering if you even want to talk to the world today. A swing and a miss. A scratch on the balls. A missed putt. A stretch in your back. An Eagle. A relight of the cigar and one last bite of the grilled cheese.

That is comfort.

Seared Tuna

Oh yes. Now I'm getting expensive on you. Or if you are perverted, kinda dirty on you. I giggle any time I type those words. Tuna...hehehehe. Seared...hehehehe.

But seriously, this is what I eat when I couldn't keep anything down. Be it car wrecks or detoxing, this was what kept me going. When all you can do is watch "Sponge Bob Squarepants" and puke bile for three days in a row, this is what you want. Gooey, slimy and covered in sauce. The only thing I want when I am sick. I can cook a piece of this before you can finish a cigarette. This is really a food that is no good for BBQ's. Too fast to cook. Before I have my bladder halfway empty, the food is done. And as you guys all know, cutting off a majestic piss half thru feels like someone punching you in the balls. Flip the fish with one hand while holding "Mr. Frosties" head with the other.

Seared tuna is great, but pissing is better. - T

Michele has some close encounters:

Comfort foods. I have a lot of them. When you’re Italian, food in and of itself is a comfort thing. Sad? Eat. Happy? Eat. It’s raining? Eat. All the worlds’ problems are solved with food. And while grandma’s pasta did give me lots of comfort on Sundays, there’s two different foods that will always give me the feeling of, well, home. When I eat these foods I feel like everything that has gone wrong will be better, that everything that sucks will be good again, that all I need after this is some feety pajamas, a pillow, a blanket and Wonderful World of Disney on the tv.

Mashed Potatoes

These were a special meal thing. Mom didn’t make them too often because they were a pain in the ass. Peeling enough potatoes to feed five people who all wanted second helpings is a bitch. Trust me, I know. 3882620_large.jpgWhen I was about six, mom realized I was old enough to work the peeler. One of those old fashioned metal things. That fucker would twist and turn as you used it. Wet potato in one hand. Sharp, resistant peeler in the other. Six year old hands. What the hell was mom thinking? It took me about fifteen minutes to peel one potato. And I cut three of my knuckles in the process. Don’t ask. Just know that I’m kinda spastic. So I had to start peeling the potatoes at like 4:00 if we wanted to eat by the time dad got home at seven. This was slave labor. Sweatshop type work. I hated it more than anything. But I got to hang out in the kitchen with mom and watch Dark Shadows. And that ruled. And then we’d eventually sit down to dinner and let me tell you, there’s something extra good about mashed potatoes that you bled for.

Plus, there’s the fun factor of mashed potatoes. The castle and moat! You build your potatoes into this huge glob that in your mind looks like a castle (fuck Richard Dreyfuss, we were building shit out of our spuds way before he did his alien thing) and then use your spoon to carve a moat around. Fill the moat with gravy. Then dump a spoonful of corn all around the moat and pretend that the kernels are drowning peasants. Make the appropriate “help me” noises. Then wait for your mom or dad to tell you to stop playing with your food and pretend you don’t see dad shaping his mashed potatoes into a hand giving the middle finger to your mother.

That was last Thanksgiving, by the way.

Gotta love the mashed potatoes.


Not just any chili. Dad’s chili. It’s the dead of winter. February in New York. Cold, gray and it’s snowing like a motherfucker. freshly fallen silent shroud of snow Everyone is outside shoveling snow or pretending to shovel snow but really just playing around. I try to explain to dad that there’s no point in shoveling the driveway now when ten more inches are predicted. But, like my mom and the potato peeler thing, my dad insists on some kind of work ethic. It’s like a life lesson. You shovel and shovel and you finally get to the end of the driveway and you turn around to survey your work and...fuck. The driveway is covered again. Must be about another five inches fell while you were working your ass off to get it cleared. Dad motions for you to start over again. Thank you, Mario, but our princess is in another castle! Fuck that. You have other things to do because here comes Mr. Plow. He clears the street, but not all the way. He leaves a thin layer of tightly packed snow on top of about an inch of ice. Oh baby! It’s like the bat signal went off. All of a sudden, there’s a bunch of kids in the street. Just waiting on a car. We’re going skitching! You wait for a car to come down the road. When one finally comes, you move in behind it like a stalking animal, crouch down and grab the bumper. Your feet slide along the street as you hang on for your life. The car makes a turn and your feet go sliding and your hands are so numb with cold you’re not sure if you are hanging on anymore and you’re pretty sure that in about two seconds, your head is going to be crushed underneath the car’s tires. But you get your balance back and you’re sliding again. You let go at the next corner and walk back home, exhilarated.

chili.JPGThat smell. You walk into the kitchen, soaking wet with snow crusted on your pants and your hands red and raw and your nose running and that smell, it melts you. Chili. Dad’s winter chili. Is it ready yet? You ask him ten times. No, he says. It has to be just right. You take off your boots and your scarf and your frozen gloves and leave them in a wet heap on the mat and you get changed into your warmest clothes, all the while your mouth is watering. Mom gives you hot chocolate. You sit at the table and watch your dad stir the chili and put in a few more spices, a few more shakes of chili powder, another dash of something else. You just wait. By the time the feeling comes back into your hands and feet, the chili is done. Dad puts a huge bowl of it in front of you with a big chunk of Italian bread and he tells you thanks for you shoveling the driveway.

Oh fuck. The driveway.

Oh well. This chili ain’t gonna eat itself. -M

So once again, we got way off topic. These are our favorite comfort foods.

We want to know yours.

And don't tell us Mac and Cheese because we will know that the tapeworms from that Kraft crap have taken over your mind. Like a weird Star Trek thing, the tapeworms have got you.

What's yours?

RKL - Coming Home


Mashed potatoes? It's gonna be that kinda party???


apple pie with cheese on it


I did some growing up on the reservation as a kid up in the Northwoods of Wisconsin. We were dedicated Bambi eaters. I swear there is nothing like a giant pot(I'm talking a giant prison pot) of venison stew and fry bread with kool-aid(purple). Grease-dripping-down-the-chin grand ole good time. You know how you gotta get that last little lick to clean the bowl? Stew sauce on the tip of the nose like? That was the shizzznit.

Then there was this thing Grandma did with corned beef hash, fried spuds, and a whole henhouse(it seemed like) of eggs. She would put it all together in pie tins, muffincups, meatloaf pans, whatever. Throw it in the oven. It was like an Indian frittata. Oh, don't forget the fry bread either.

Wait! Oatmeal and bacon grease. THE breakfast of champions for real! (w/the fry bread of course)



now i gotta google "fry bread"


Flour, salt, baking powder, sugar, liquid(water, milk or condensed milk). Some put a little shortening in the batter.

Mix, knead for a couple minutes, and make into smaller hand friendly pieces.

Into a frying pan with about two inches of crisco, lay these pieces of dough and fry until GBnD on both sides.

Ta-da.....fry bread.


fry bread is the man. I ate a lot of it in Phoenix. You go to county fairs in Oregon and they call them scones or elephant ears, but i know what they are. really yummy with honey and powdered sugar, or on a plate with some hotass chili on it.

Comfort food... pancakes. A big old stack of pancakes drowning in syrup. No butter. Grilled Cheese and tomato soup of course. Doesn't remind me of jail, but reminds me of the good times when i was broke and could afford a loaf of bread, a can of soup and a chunk of cheese all at once, and a quart of milk with the change. I was shittin in tall cotton when i could afford to make GC&TS. Also PB&J on white bread. Gotta be Jif creamy, gotta be Smuckers grape, gotta be Wonderbread. Washed down with lime KoolAid. Preschool nap time feelings. Cranberry gel from the can for Thanksgiving, sliced thin and even, as a nod to gramma rose.Smart Half is all about homemade fried chicken, and he can fry up a mofo chicken better than anything the colonel has squeezed out in 40 years.


and he can fry up a mofo chicken better than anything the colonel has squeezed out in 40 years.

fried chicken

ome day i'll post my correspndence with Gacy while he was in jail for you all to read



if you don't get that reference

John Wayne Gacy was one of the founders of KFC before he got all weird and I corresponded with him while he was in prison.

We won't talk about the art he did for me cause Michele gets all weirded out by that thought.

Really, I kinda do too

But, i'll tell that story another day.


Comfort Food. I have 3.

Chili Cheese Fries (made with steak fries and steak chili) from a little place is Pasadena.

Quesadillas, any kind, but Del Tacos for some reason do the trick at 2am.

and last but not least, Oreos. Man, thats is THE thing to eat.


Ice cream. I don't discriminate either. Some are better than others, but, if pressed, I will eat just about any kind or any brand.

My grilled steak. By this I'm usually referring to New York strip or Porterhouse, but this has been rarer the past few years. Sirloin has been the cut du jour in my household lately.


Krystal burgers. But only after 3AM. And only after a large quantity of alcohol has been previously consumed.

Any other time and they just cause assplosions.

Good times.


First of all, if you haven't tried fry bread, you're missing one of the most amazing foods on the planet. So simple, so basic, so yummy. My friend Wilbur's Gran used to make it by the freaking basket and send us all off with like four pieces before she'd let us out the door with a hug. Of course, the Gramma hug didn't hurt neither.

Comfort food? Grilled cheeze and tomato soup is up there, but these days it's my Vegetable, Lentil and Italian Sausage soup and a big chunk of french bread.


Go ahead, call me a cracker now... Fried chicken, mashed potatoes and corn. Maybe with some greens, maybe not (it all depends... if my wife is eating as well, there's no greens). Big fat pieces of corn bread and all the iced tea (unsweetened) I can drink.

That's when you know I've had a rough day. I go right back to momma's cooking.


simple. a slice of white bread with butter on it. it makes me feel happy.

when the other half has had a rough week, and shit's getting him down, i make a shepherd's pie. it seems to work.

greens are nasty, dude.


mom's meatloaf AND mashed potatos? check!

grilled cheese n tomato soup on a rainy day? check!

dad's chili? check!

my dad cooked the shit outta some venison stroganoff while we were growing up, but i don't consider it comfort food...

thanksgiving turkey with all the trimmings (mom's stuffing, gravy with giblets, potatoes, cranberry sauce -- sliced, still in it's can shaped form, etc..) THAT's total comfort food.

shepherd's pie? check!

the best? my mommom (read:grandmother) used to make everything all better with a piece of sugar bread:

white bread and butter with sugar poured on top.

oh did it make mom mad but boy was it GOOD!


I remember this topic being discussed late last year. Back then I was odd-man-out (hardly a unique situation) because I couldn't grasp the definition of comfort food. I opined that while food is certainly necessary to live, I never understood certain foods having a hallmark as being comforting.

I couldn't fathom why the stereotypical Macaroni and Cheese was considered by the masses as sacred and comforting, but a dish of Baked Ziti was ordinary. At one point I considered the concept to be nothing more than a marketing device.

But then many people offered explanations ranging from a replay of their mother/grandmother's love (or a substitute thereof) to a step back to simpler times.

I asked my much-better-half if she had any favorite comfort food and her response was anything you bring home that I don't have to cook would be comforting to me.

So it is about a year later, and I still don't get it, even after reading Michele and Turtle's favorites, and the above comments. Mind you, their dishes all sound tasty, even those I never considered previously (bacon grease on oatmeal? I'll take a large bowl!).

But I can't imagine ever saying to myself The world is crap; God, I wish I had a bowl/plate/fork of _____ (Now a bottle of booze is quite another topic entirely.)

Since so many people are so enamoured to their favorites, this is something else that I am clearly missing out on.


I make a killer cajun red beans and rice. The whole family loves it. It's very comfortable.

I like to cook. I like food. I would LOVE to hear the Gacy story(stories). Ohhhhhh....


Good old spaghetti and meatballs for me. Or maybe ziti instead of spaghetti. Maybe throw some some sausages in there with the meatballs too. With garlic bread. That's the best.


kali, i'm sooo with you on the bread/butter/sugar thing. i used to eat that when i was a kid quite a bit. i think i'd probably go directly into a sugar coma if i did it now, though.


another really comforting dish is soft-boiled eggs on toast, but only the way my dad made it. everyone else seems to put in extra eggslime. grody. he always made it perfectly....crunchy, buttery toast cut into squares, yolk soaking into them. so good....


Just the smell alone of garlic bread in the oven is one of the most comforting things in the world.

And I'm with you on the soft boiled eggs on toast, dynamine. Mom used to make that for me when I stayed home from school sick.


ok, fully having soft boiled eggs on toast when i get home...


Grilled cheese with pickles? Never tried it that way. For the record, grilled cheese and tomoato soup is what I eat when I can't think of anything else. Or I'm too lazy to cook a meal.


Tomato soup is the devil... Actually, all soup is evil. Horrid bowls of disgusting dribs and drabs of whatever is leftover cooked in a pot until mushy.... Served steaming death and smelling of rotting flesh and old vegetables....

"Mommy, why is that man ranting about soup ?"
"He used to work for a soup company, honey. Just ignore him."

I hate soup.


Random weird fact about me:

Tomato soup makes my ears burn.


soft boiled eggs on toast????

i've never heard that


Oh, it's awesome. I'll have to make it for you.

It has to be done just runny slimy stuff.


Steak. Rare as Hell.

Mostly because it's simple and delicious. Most of the others can be screwed up. And, yes, I have screwed up while making mashed potatos.

But, a rare sirloin is always good.


Comfort food? Popcorn with too much butter and even more Parmesan cheese.


So many comfort foods - chicken fried steak smothered in gravy probably tops the list. Migas, chilequiles are a close second. Treats (leftover pie crust cut into strips and covered in cinnamon and sugar, then broiled for a few minutes) never fail to make me happy. And hangover cure? Peanut butter and karo syrup. Just that mixed in a bowl, sitting on the couch watching Tommy Boy. Doesn't really cure the hangover, but you just don't care. And brown sugar/butter sandwiches. Awesome stuff.


dude, i make mean chilaquiles for a huera.

the bowl of karo sounds strange to me, though. is it, like, the dark syrup? the light? what's it taste like?


It's the light syrup. You blend the syrup and PB together with a spoon and get basically a thin peanut butter (surprise!). The syrup basically takes away the dry taste that straight peanut butter normally has and adds some sweetness. Eat a jar of pb and 1/4 to 1/2 jar of karo, and you're fed for the day. Great lazy man food.


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