What to Eat When You Miss Someone Deeply
The first time I understood that food could fill the empty spaces left by people, I was twenty-three and freshly dumped, standing in my kitchen at 2 AM with a can of condensed milk and a spoon. Not my proudest moment, but there it was – that primal need to put something, anything, into the hollow that used to hold another person.
When you miss someone deeply, really miss them in that bone-aching way, your body does strange things. You forget to eat, then suddenly you’re ravenous. Nothing tastes right. Everything tastes like cardboard or memories or both. The trick isn’t to fight it – it’s to lean into it with the right ammunition.
The Anchovy Toast Remedy
Start with anchovies on toast. I know, I know. But hear me out. Good bread, toasted dark. Real butter, room temperature. Those little silver fish that most people hate. Layer them on thick. The salt hits your tongue like a slap, wakes you up from that grief stupor. It’s aggressive food, unapologetic. You can’t eat this and wallow simultaneously. The fish demand your attention.
Bone Broth at 3 AM
Then there’s the middle-of-the-night solution: proper bone broth. Not from a box. The kind you make yourself when sleep won’t come anyway. Roast the bones first – beef knuckles, marrow bones, whatever your butcher will give you cheap. Brown them until they smell like survival itself. Into the pot with water, just enough to cover. Let it bubble away while you pace the apartment. Twenty-four hours later, you’ve got liquid gold. Sip it from a mug when the missing gets too loud. It fills the cracks.
The Carbonara Cure
For dinner, when you need something that feels like being held, make carbonara. The real thing – just eggs, cheese, black pepper, and guanciale if you can find it, bacon if you can’t. No cream. The heat from the pasta cooks the eggs into silk. You have to pay attention, can’t let your mind wander to that empty side of the bed. One minute you’re stirring, the next you’re eating something that tastes like comfort without the lies most comfort food tells.
Raw Oysters for Courage
On the days when you need to feel brave, when you’re ready to stop missing and start living, get yourself a dozen oysters. Eat them standing at the kitchen counter, right from the shell. That briny shock, that taste of the ocean – it’s life forcing its way back in. Each one is a small act of defiance against the part of you that wants to stay curled up with the ghosts.
Food won’t bring them back. But it can hold you steady while you wait for the missing to fade from sharp to dull. And that’s something.
