A note: this is not the usual format of my newsletter, but a personal interlude. Restaurant, food and travel stories will resume next month. Until then, you can access past issues here.

Something unheard of happened yesterday. My mother binned an entire crisper drawer of waning produce. This is the same woman who, just days earlier, rescued two orange segments from a four-day-old fruit platter. We’ve been eating from foreign casserole dishes for two weeks now. Yesterday was the first time we cooked; a boiled Japanese side dish of kabocha no nimono, made with a butternut squash that outlived my father.

My dad died on July 8. For the first week in A World Without Greg, our dining table had a minimum of 12 people around it. Morning tea. Lunch. Dinner. The house an echo chamber of memories and stories, both old and surprising. It’s not luck that I’m surrounded by a huge and caring community, it’s a testament to my parents.

This month I’ve become accustomed to taking an inventory of what’s in the fridge, arranging the freezer like a Tetris champion, and the crickety-crack of plastic takeaway containers being pried open. There’s been a lot of lasagna. Buckets of bread. The only thing you can’t have too much of is chicken soup, but we knew that already. When my appetite dwindles and comfort food doesn’t comfort, people do.

I can’t remember a time where I’ve been told, “You should eat something.” Food just isn’t that appetising right now; there’s a dullness blanketing everything, which I know will fade in time. I read that others overeat when grieving. In German the word kummerspeck or “grief bacon” refers to weight gained during a particularly emotional period. My appetite might be unpredictable, but the act of coming together and sharing food has never been more poignant. Dad would have loved it.

There’s comfort in ritual, and our family rituals have always been around food. We eat together with the television switched off. When other kids went to parties, I spent Friday nights around the table with my grandparents and cousins. My parents, brothers and I would go out for breakfast most Sundays (which ignited my interest in food writing). As a small child, regular daddy-daughter dates to eat “square noo-noos” (ravioli) at a local restaurant made me feel adult. Dad brought home my favourite pan bagnat (salade niçoise roll) during high school and dropped it on my desk while I was studying. When I graduated, I visited him for lunch at work.

When motor neurone disease robbed dad of his ability to swallow, mum and I made it our mission to help him continue to taste his favourite foods for as long as he was able. On one occasion, we even blended a burger. The last significant thing he managed to consume was a few sips of a Brasserie du Mont Blanc blonde ale at France-Soir restaurant in South Yarra. That was just after he had a PEG tube put in. Although it became less comfortable to share food in front of dad rather than with him, he still often sat at the dinner table. His appetite for family was insatiable.

It’s inexplicable that the world didn’t stop when dad died. Life continues as normal around our loss, and that’s what makes living feel so damn surreal. I was in the middle of writing a newsletter that recommended where to eat Hong Kong cuisine locally, inspired by our MasterChef trip. Instead, I found myself researching the role food plays in different cultures when someone dies.

Many rituals are linked to religion, such as abstaining from meat in Buddhism and Hinduism. Chinese-influence cultures often serve symbolic dishes, like boiled chicken to give a spirit safe flight, or roast pig representing luck and eternity. At Orthodox Christian memorials in Eastern Europe, Russia, Greece and parts of the Middle East, koliva is served, a wholegrain wheat dish decorated with dried fruit and nuts that’s flavoured with spices and honey.

In Mexican culture, people welcome the spirits of loved ones back for a festive 24-hour reunion during Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead), offering a sweet roll fragrant with orange blossom that’s topped with gnarly, bone-like dough. It’s called pan de muerto, literally “bread of the dead”.

In Turkey, Armenia, Iran and Mizrahi Jewish communities (the latter descended from Muslim rule during the Middle Ages), halva or helva is served at funerals. I read somewhere that there’s even a Turkish phrase that translates to “roasting halva for someone”, which indicates they’ve died. Sharing food when someone is grieving is globally recognised; there are even culinary grief support groups.

I’ve found comfort in ritual and reading. There’s no right way to grieve. No guidebook. The most relatable article I’ve read on grief so far came from The Washington Post. The author notes that there are food guides for everything, but none for bereavement, and then she provides a very real one.

Not 10 minutes pass where I don’t think about dad. He was so extraordinarily loving that my glass half full still overflows with him. Our relationship was – is – so strong that the emptiness people so often describe hasn’t hit me. Of course his absence sends aching swells throughout my chest, but dad gave too much for me to feel any lack. I am comforted by the knowledge that I had the best dad to ever exist – and that’s not just according to me.

I heard someone describe enormous loss as a permanent hole in one’s heart. It doesn’t ever heal, but life continues to expand around it. I miss my dad immensely, but he will always be in everything I do.

Sincerely, Sofia x

How to Support MND Victoria

MND Victoria provides essential support services for people living with motor neurone disease, and their families. We would have been completely lost without them. You can support MND Victoria by:

1. Donating directly

2. Registering to join me in taking the Shut Up! Challenge in September (a hilarious and eye-opening day where you go without your voice for 6-12 hours to support people who lose theirs to MND)

3. Keeping an eye on this newsletter for a fundraising dinner I’m organising

4. Emailing me if you can contribute a fabulous prize to the above event!