The Indian summer we have been enjoying so far is coming to an end with trees almost into their full autumn colour and increasingly crispy mornings and chilly evenings.
Autumn is always when we revert to our primitive selves and feel a vestigial response to fatten up for the cold lean months ahead.
Colder weather and shorter daylight hours affect mood and appetite and lead to cravings for carb rich comfort foods.
Heavier, richer foods start to seem more appealing than light summer fare.
A Little Bit of Comfort
In the style of Pam Ayres
I don’t want quinoa in a bowl,
Or salad made of kale,
Don’t talk to me of “healthy fats”
Or “omega-rich” green ale.
I want a pud that sticks your ribs,
And custard poured on top,
A steaming stew with dumplings,
And gravy that won’t stop.
Food is not just necessary for survival but has psychological value and is always present at the milestones of our lives.
And while in Australia we probably have the most diverse food culture of any place on earth, it is often the simple foods of our past that we crave.
When we talk about comfort food, it is about the food that brings a sense of well-being and emotional satisfaction because of its nostalgic associations with memories of childhood, home and cultural traditions.
During times of illness our bodies often crave comfort foods that are easy to digest, soothing, and emotionally reassuring.
Across different cultures soup features consistently: from chicken broth (often referred to as Jewish penicillin) to Asian congee, Middle Eastern shorbatadas, a lentil soup to Russian/Ukrainian borsht.
Of course, the converse could also be true and may lead to avoiding certain foods because of their reminder of painful or unpleasant memories.
The smell of a dish from a difficult period might bring back the emotional weight of that time.
Certain flavours or meals might recall moments of grief as in Eating Together” by Li-Young Lee, a poignant poem about a family meal after the death of the speaker’s father
In the steamer is the trout
seasoned with slivers of ginger,
two sprigs of green onion, and sesame oil.
Every kind of food not only has nutritional value it also carries with it what one might term a psychological value and there is a scientific explanation how certain foods affect us.
When we eat our favourite comfort foods the hypothalamus releases dopamine creating a feeling of pleasure and anticipation: a feel good sensation.
The positive effects of dopamine influence everything from digestion and blood flow to memory, focus, and stress management.
The brain’s response to comfort food is particularly pronounced with dishes high in fat, sugar, or salt.
This reaction isn’t just about pleasure – it’s rooted in survival instincts. Our ancestors’ brains evolved to prioritise calorie-dense foods, making fatty and sugary foods particularly appealing. Unfortunately the fast food industry understands this too well.
Comfort food varies widely between individuals and cultures—what’s comforting to one person might be unfamiliar and unappealing to another.
For Australian indigenous poet Ellen van Neerven the mango becomes a site of nostalgia and cultural connection.
the mango is a memory
of summer sweat, of bush tracks
and bare feet…
from Mango
All of us are a little unbalanced in some way at some time.
The food we love is frequently something that compensates us for this: it counterbalances us It can be a hot bowl of soup or a slice of chocolate cake.
Maybe a plate of Nonna’s pasta carbonara or Gran’s apple crumble. It’s all about what fills your spirit.
So food is not just what you eat, it’s what you feel. Fish and chips in plastic tray container never quite matches the long gone newspaper parcel, the enticing smell permeating through the paper.
Australia’s comfort foods not only reflect British culinary traditions but increasingly reflect the diversity of our population.
The other day in a café at lunchtime with people on work breaks it seemed that just about everybody was enjoying huge bowls of Vietnamese pho (pronounced fuh) a fragrant broth with noodles beef or chicken served with crisp bamboo shoots, Asian mint and basil .a recent addition to our increasing diversity of comfort food on offer.
But older Australians may still long for a sturdy pea and ham soup or have in their pantries a tin of condensed tomato soup which cheered up many on a cold wintery day.
Recently Virginia Trioli, a guest on the ABC’s afternoon food show, A Bite with Alice, the question of comfort food was raised and Virginia confessed that for her after a bad day at the
office the ideal comfort food was the Dim Sim And not any gourmet version but the bog standard dimmy found in every fish and chip shop.
Always steamed not fried, the magic number for her was three in a bag with a dash of soya sauce.
She would retreat to her car and savour the steam and the taste and as she put it she would feel ready to face the world again.
The Australian dim sim is a uniquely Aussie take on traditional Chinese dumplings.
Despite the name’s similarity to “dim sum,” the dim sim has its own origin story and cultural significance in Australia.
The right food can provide at the right time access to neglected psychological needs.
It might be that one needs to eat fish and chips or mashed potatoes with lashings of butter or a lamb roast with gravy and mint sauce that remind you of Sunday roasts or maybe next day’s
transformations of the leftovers.
These are familiar, hearty and satisfying and emotionally soothing comfort foods.
The smell of certain foods bring to mind memories and associations and none more so than bread.
That is why estate agents have been known to tell vendors to have bread warming in the oven to create feeling of home for prospective buyers.
Right across the world from the crusty baguette to the softness of the Indian Naan, to South American tortillas, to pitta pockets to the stolid black rye of eastern Europe and the braided challah in Jewish culture, there’s nothing like the smell of fresh bread to give you that sense of comfort and peace.
With apologies to vegans and vegetarians the following poem is a picture of someone fully sated and comforted by a hearty meal of meat.
Osso Bucco by Billy Collins
I love the sound of the bone against the plate
and the fortress-like look of it
lying before me in a moat of risotto,
the meat soft as the leg of an angel
who has lived a purely airborne existence.
And best of all, the secret marrow,
the invaded privacy of the animal
prized out with a knife and swallowed done
with cold, exhilarating wine.
I am swaying now in the hour after dinner,
a citizen tilted back on his chair,
a creature with a full stomach —
something you don’t hear much about in poetry,
that sanctuary of hunger and deprivation.
You know: the driving rain, the boots by the door,
small birds searching for berries in winter.
But tonight, the lion of contentment
has placed a warm, heavy paw on my chest,
and I can only close my eyes and listen
to the drums of woe throbbing in the distance
