What's Your Comfort Food?

I can feel the lump in my stomach. Hours after an invigorating workout with weights and cardio combined, I've just submarined my fitness efforts with a two-hotdog lunch. The warm buns, mustard (and ketchup) remind me of skipping school for the cheap seats and baseball's opening day, making sure to evade my father who was sitting in the box seats! Cold and cloudy days like today remind me of growing up in Western New York. According to NOAA, Denver (my home today) averages nearly seven of every ten days with sunshine. Rochester, where I grew up, has one sunny day for every one with clouds, 51% days with sunshine to be exact.

I'm not blaming the hotdogs on my upbringing, convenient though that would be. But that lump got me thinking about our "comfort" foods. Are they regional? Do they help us make a link (hotdogs, "link", get it?) to our childhood? Do we choose them, or do they choose us? Mine are the aforementioned frankfurters, along with mac 'n' cheese, chocolate ice cream and my mother's pot roast. Had I chosen them, I like to think I would have chosen more wisely. Broccoli anyone?

I hope my kids will be comforted by many things as they grow older. Perhaps the scent of a cologne, or their mom's homemade burritos. With a nod to the 21st century, it might be the nearly imperceptible hum of their Nintendo toys or laptop. As odd as it sounds, one of the most comforting reminders in my life is the smell of a slightly mildewed garage. That takes me back to my maternal grandparents and their home in Muncie, Indiana. Once in awhile, that same smell visits in our own garage. Some 40 years later and I'm right back playing in the front yard with my little plastic toy soldiers.

The things that comfort us probably choose us, not the other way around. Memories, like hotdogs, are probably best when they are mixed infrequently with our present, and our future.