- PPF Points
- 2,100
A Deep Dive Into the Dishes That Warm Our Souls
Okay, let’s be real for a sec—there’s food that dazzles, food that fuels us so we don’t pass out mid-email, and then there’s a whole other league: the stuff that actually makes your heart exhale. You know what I’m saying. Comfort food. It’s not about the fork-and-knife ritual at some fancy place or the macros your fitness app nags you about. This is the food you want when you miss your childhood bedroom for no good reason or when the world’s just a bit too loud.
Ask anyone, “So what’s your comfort food?” Suddenly, they’re grinning like it’s a secret handshake, eyes all glossy while they’re back in that place—mom’s kitchen, a busted old couch, maybe even the backseat of a car after some heartbreak. That’s the kind of magic we’re talking about.
So here’s what we’re getting into today (no suit-and-tie required):
• What’s the deal with comfort food?
• Why does it punch us right in the feelings?
• My top comfort food pick (complete with a nostalgia bomb of a story)
• Global greatest hits in the comfort food hall of fame
• How you can summon that “ahhhh” feeling, even with new recipes
Ready? Let’s jump in.
What’s Comfort Food, Really?
Honestly, it’s simple. It’s that thing you want when everything else is just… too much. Probably not winning you points with your cardiologist and definitely not making it to Michelin, but that’s not the point. It’s soul food—sometimes greasy, sometimes mushy, always trustworthy.
This is the brown-bag mac and cheese your tired parent chucked in the oven, the ramen you managed to boil at 3AM after a marathon study sesh, the stew that somehow tasted like a hug from someone you’ve missed for years. Chocolate cake that patched up a broken heart once, at least until you outgrew that haircut.
It’s called comfort food because it’s not about calories, fiber, or any of that stuff. It’s just about feeling safe.
Why Can’t We Quit Comfort Food?
You ever wonder why, out of all the foods in the world, it’s this stuff that clings to you? There’s science, believe it or not.
Nostalgia: First off, most comfort food is tangled up with your sweetest, strongest memories. Grandmas, birthdays, winters under three blankets—those moments come back with a single bite.
Serotonin Who? Carby, fatty, sugary stuff (aka, comfort food’s greatest hits) can bump up those happy chemicals in your brain. That’s why that slice of pie just… hits better on a rough day.
Ritual: You get soup when sick, cookies at Christmas, nachos when you feel reckless. Your brain links those rituals to little pockets of happiness or, at least, “Hey, I’m okay now.”
Roots: Every culture’s got a lineup, and there’s something reassuring about the flavors you grew up with. Makes the world feel a bit less huge, for a second.
My Forever #1: Chicken & Rice Soup
AKA: The Blanket In a Bowl
Look, I’ve tried wild things—bone marrow in Paris, some sushi that looked back at me in Tokyo—but nothing, and I mean nothing, lands quite like chicken and rice soup. Not the shiny noodle version, not a tricked-out Vietnamese pho—just plain old, homemade chicken and rice. Like grandma used to make.
Memory lane time: I’m ten, shivering on the couch, flu taking me down for the count. Grandma moves through the kitchen like a wizard, no measurements, just heart. She throws together what she has—bone-in chicken, onions, some tired carrots and celery, garlic, a handful of rice. Everything slow-cooked. No recipes. The whole house smells like healing. Seriously, I think even my dog perked up.
When she handed me that bowl, it wasn’t just about eating. Every bite was a warm push against whatever hurt, making even the sharp edges of being sick feel a little rounder. Still, to this day, when adult life is a mess, I’ll make that soup. It’s basic, but the comfort is almost annoyingly effective.
Comfort Food Around the World: A Quick Tour (Passport Not Required)
The one thing every country seems to get right? They all have their version of edible therapy.
Mac and Cheese (U.S.): If you don’t see the allure of gooey cheese and noodles, maybe you’ve never had a real bad Monday.
Congee (China): Soft, warm rice porridge, slurped up at breakfast or whenever you need kindness in a bowl.
Dal & Rice (India): Simple, comforting, and as reliable as your favorite playlist.
Miso Soup (Japan): A light broth that somehow manages to pull you back down to earth.
Shepherd’s Pie (UK): Potatoes + beef + veggies = winter is suddenly survivable.
Arepas (Venezuela/Colombia): Corn cakes stuffed with whatever your soul craves, usually cheese. Yes, please.
Borscht (Russia/Ukraine): Bright beet soup, showing Eastern Europe knows how to do cozy.
Tagine (Morocco): Slow-cooked clay pot wonders with spices, filling enough to lift your spirits and your waistband.
Feijoada (Brazil): Black beans, pork, and rice. The definition of hearty.
It’s Not Even About The Food
End of the day, comfort food isn’t just about filling your belly. It’s about patching up a hard week, finding a thread back to your people—alive, gone, or somewhere in between. Sometimes it’s permission to fall apart a little, knowing you can put yourself back together, spoonful by spoonful.
And if that isn’t the best use for carbs and nostalgia, I don’t know what is.
Okay, let’s be real for a sec—there’s food that dazzles, food that fuels us so we don’t pass out mid-email, and then there’s a whole other league: the stuff that actually makes your heart exhale. You know what I’m saying. Comfort food. It’s not about the fork-and-knife ritual at some fancy place or the macros your fitness app nags you about. This is the food you want when you miss your childhood bedroom for no good reason or when the world’s just a bit too loud.
Ask anyone, “So what’s your comfort food?” Suddenly, they’re grinning like it’s a secret handshake, eyes all glossy while they’re back in that place—mom’s kitchen, a busted old couch, maybe even the backseat of a car after some heartbreak. That’s the kind of magic we’re talking about.
So here’s what we’re getting into today (no suit-and-tie required):
• What’s the deal with comfort food?
• Why does it punch us right in the feelings?
• My top comfort food pick (complete with a nostalgia bomb of a story)
• Global greatest hits in the comfort food hall of fame
• How you can summon that “ahhhh” feeling, even with new recipes
Ready? Let’s jump in.
What’s Comfort Food, Really?
Honestly, it’s simple. It’s that thing you want when everything else is just… too much. Probably not winning you points with your cardiologist and definitely not making it to Michelin, but that’s not the point. It’s soul food—sometimes greasy, sometimes mushy, always trustworthy.
This is the brown-bag mac and cheese your tired parent chucked in the oven, the ramen you managed to boil at 3AM after a marathon study sesh, the stew that somehow tasted like a hug from someone you’ve missed for years. Chocolate cake that patched up a broken heart once, at least until you outgrew that haircut.
It’s called comfort food because it’s not about calories, fiber, or any of that stuff. It’s just about feeling safe.
Why Can’t We Quit Comfort Food?
You ever wonder why, out of all the foods in the world, it’s this stuff that clings to you? There’s science, believe it or not.
Nostalgia: First off, most comfort food is tangled up with your sweetest, strongest memories. Grandmas, birthdays, winters under three blankets—those moments come back with a single bite.
Serotonin Who? Carby, fatty, sugary stuff (aka, comfort food’s greatest hits) can bump up those happy chemicals in your brain. That’s why that slice of pie just… hits better on a rough day.
Ritual: You get soup when sick, cookies at Christmas, nachos when you feel reckless. Your brain links those rituals to little pockets of happiness or, at least, “Hey, I’m okay now.”
Roots: Every culture’s got a lineup, and there’s something reassuring about the flavors you grew up with. Makes the world feel a bit less huge, for a second.
My Forever #1: Chicken & Rice Soup
AKA: The Blanket In a Bowl
Look, I’ve tried wild things—bone marrow in Paris, some sushi that looked back at me in Tokyo—but nothing, and I mean nothing, lands quite like chicken and rice soup. Not the shiny noodle version, not a tricked-out Vietnamese pho—just plain old, homemade chicken and rice. Like grandma used to make.
Memory lane time: I’m ten, shivering on the couch, flu taking me down for the count. Grandma moves through the kitchen like a wizard, no measurements, just heart. She throws together what she has—bone-in chicken, onions, some tired carrots and celery, garlic, a handful of rice. Everything slow-cooked. No recipes. The whole house smells like healing. Seriously, I think even my dog perked up.
When she handed me that bowl, it wasn’t just about eating. Every bite was a warm push against whatever hurt, making even the sharp edges of being sick feel a little rounder. Still, to this day, when adult life is a mess, I’ll make that soup. It’s basic, but the comfort is almost annoyingly effective.
Comfort Food Around the World: A Quick Tour (Passport Not Required)
The one thing every country seems to get right? They all have their version of edible therapy.
Mac and Cheese (U.S.): If you don’t see the allure of gooey cheese and noodles, maybe you’ve never had a real bad Monday.
Congee (China): Soft, warm rice porridge, slurped up at breakfast or whenever you need kindness in a bowl.
Dal & Rice (India): Simple, comforting, and as reliable as your favorite playlist.
Miso Soup (Japan): A light broth that somehow manages to pull you back down to earth.
Shepherd’s Pie (UK): Potatoes + beef + veggies = winter is suddenly survivable.
Arepas (Venezuela/Colombia): Corn cakes stuffed with whatever your soul craves, usually cheese. Yes, please.
Borscht (Russia/Ukraine): Bright beet soup, showing Eastern Europe knows how to do cozy.
Tagine (Morocco): Slow-cooked clay pot wonders with spices, filling enough to lift your spirits and your waistband.
Feijoada (Brazil): Black beans, pork, and rice. The definition of hearty.
It’s Not Even About The Food
End of the day, comfort food isn’t just about filling your belly. It’s about patching up a hard week, finding a thread back to your people—alive, gone, or somewhere in between. Sometimes it’s permission to fall apart a little, knowing you can put yourself back together, spoonful by spoonful.
And if that isn’t the best use for carbs and nostalgia, I don’t know what is.
