“Pass the chicken, pass the pie. We sure eat good when someone dies. Funeral food, it's so good for the soul. Funeral food, fills you up down to your toes.” —Kate Campbell
Funeral food was much on my mind last week as I returned to Texas to attend my grandma Ashner’s funeral.
She had been riddled with pancreatic cancer and when she was diagnosed last fall she was given five months to live. That she made it through 11 months was a gift and while I miss her, I know that she’s no longer feeling any pain.
Grandma Ashner, aka Grandma Fain or Grandma Texas, was my dad’s mother. She was a traditional Southern woman that despite her gentle, belle-like nature also had the strength to raise six children pretty much by herself in not the best of circumstances, with little complaint and much love. She was a passionate Aggie in a family of Longhorns and a staunch Democrat in a family where Republicans are the majority. She also had good Texan taste—adoring both the Dallas Cowboys and George Strait. And she made exceptional giblet gravy, which makes any other holiday condiment taste tepid and weak and wonderful chicken-fried steak, which of course makes all Texans smile.
Grandma Ashner holding me on my first birthday, with my aunts Julie and Jill joining in the fun.
I like to say I get my sweet nature from my mother’s side of the family—where pies are a specialty—and my savory nature from my dad’s side of the family—where chili and Tex-Mex are more on offer. But this is an oversimplification as Grandma Ashner was as sweet as they come. She always had a smile on her face and called everyone either darlin’, sweetheart or precious. And when it was time to bid farewell, you couldn’t leave without her saying, “Sweetheart, give me some sugar!”
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