A somewhat morbid OWFL

Rarely am I surprised by lunch. When I order lunch at my usual haunt Metropolis, I know exactly what the Mediterranean salad with chicken is going to look like, or my other favorite, the smoked ham with provolone on French bread. Same thing when I pack my lunch, the yogurt and fruit never miraculously morph into something I'm not expecting on the trip from my home to my office.

Rarely too am I surprised by funerals. Besides having numerous family members pass away and more tragically some dear friends, I have also done volunteer work with Hospice as a counselor from terminally ill patients and as a result have been to many funerals over the years. Almost always there is some kind of lunch afterwards, and they are usually sad little pot luck ordeals. I'm not even referring to it being sad because of the nature of the event, because that does indeed cast a sad light over the gathering, but excepting all of that, they are sad because the food offering is rarely anything to get excited about. The Jews do it slightly better than most, because there is guaranteed to be a huge pile of fresh bagels and the good cream cheese from the deli and obscene amounts of smoked salmon. I do love me some good Nova.

It was therefore a complete and utter shock to me when I attended the funeral of the grandmother of some very close friends. I didn't know Gran particularly well, but the rest of the family was like a second family to me, so I went to the funeral to show solidarity for my friends. I'm not a Chicago native, and even as a transplant I am an avowed Northsider, so I wasn't familiar with the south side cemetery and the reception hall we went to the day. I was informed that they are a Chicago institution and the even Cardinal Joseph Bernadin is spending his eternal earthly slumber there. The funeral was typical sad, and the graveyard service was particularly heart wrenching when they lowered the casket and my friends mother started whimpering and crying out, "mama, mama, mama." But nothing could have prepared me for the lunch afterwards.

Because they are good Irish folks [see, I don't really hate the Irish] there were two ENORMOUS bars set up and we were all immediately encouraged to drink up. They mixed up heavenly, rich Bloody Mary's for us. A couple of them went down really easy when my nose detected the most delightful aroma of fresh bread and I was presented a basket of warm rolls from the oven. "Oh my God, you have to have one of these. NOW." my new grandmotherless friend insisted. And she was right. I did indeed need to have one. And then another. And then another. They were insanely good. We kept drinking and eating rolls and drinking and eating rolls until giant platters of food began to arrive and were set on the tables. I clearly remember tender roast beef, fried chicken, tortellini in tomato sauce, mashed potatoes and beef gravy, corn swimming in butter and I know many others, but I was soon swimming in a haze of alcohol and some of the richest and homiest food of my life. We sat for hours and ate and talked and people began to tell stories of Gran's life and we cried and laughed until tears streamed down our faces. I may have not known her well in her life, but I felt like I knew her after that lunch and I felt closer to those friends than ever before. Walking out of that lunch, I was renewed with a belief for embracing life and quite honestly the power of a good lunch shared with loved ones.

I still think about that day, and although I hope my funeral is a long ways off, I hope it is very similar to Gran's: good friends and family laughing at my eccentricities and fueled with amazing food and drink. I'm still contemplating the menu, though. What would you want served at your funeral?

And of course, WFL?