Culture of kindness

In mayhem and mourning, food is a universal tool for expressions of care, discovers

- ANNA MCCOOE

Some sentiments are best expressed in parcels of hot food wrapped in foil and left on doorsteps. "Good luck", "get better", "deepest sympathies”, “I'm here for you"; they are all platitudes that swell with meaning when delivered in the form of a home-cooked meal. Sometimes, when arrangements need to be made, the simple act of taking dinner off a to-do list is pure salvation. Other times it's the connection to community that tells us we are not alone in a less Hallmark kind of way.

When home feels a long way away, a well-sourced care package can take you back to the customs of childhood because roots have a way of surfacing under duress. Then there are moments when the foods from a neighbour's heritage, developed over hundreds if not thousands of years of comfort eating, bridges the communication divide.

For brothers Daniel and Luke Mancuso losing their mother Teresa to domestic violence caused unimaginable pain. But they found their way back in the dishes Yiayia, the Greek grandmother next door, passed over the back fence. The Greek-Australian community is particularly good at culinary kindness. They are joined by so many cultures that are bound by the ritual of food.

By the power of deadlines, not by design, I write this on the one-year anniversary of my own mother's death. When she died, the mourning was encased by a haze of plans to make, relatives to placate and my two little children who still needed to be fed. When the doorstep deliveries started rolling in, each landed in a show of support and sheer relief. From the lasagnes to the stews, soups and paellas; I didn't taste any of them, but I felt them all.