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Casseroles, a unifying assembly of culture

Yve Spengler

Surrounded by my ex’s family that I had not yet begun to feel comfortable with, I was handed a steaming paper plate that was almost too hot to hold, piled with familiar savory smells despite looking like mush. A mixture of creamy veggies and hearty ground beef warmly made its way down my previously unsatiated tummy, slowly loosening my nerves enough to feel at home with what had started to feel like family. In the cozy lamp light of a home that protected us from the cold, hotdish was the perfect meal to encapsulate our time in a flavor-filled memory. 

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve heard horror stories of casseroles made to disgust the taste buds of even a goat, or someone who could normally eat anything. Tuna baked with potato chips? No thank you. The excess starch in a dish already made of pure starch that bloats your tummy? What a mess. How could any of these foods ever be considered comfort foods? There are some casseroles that don’t deserve the pride many Midwesterns give them. But…

Isn’t it sweet how even unpalatable food gives us something to talk about, or a laughable recollection for later?  The very first thing I bonded with my current university friends over was the terrible, terrible dining food, but even then—it brought new acquaintances together into fundamental friendships. All of the frownable varieties of casserole are—impressive. They are a true testimony to the creativity of people to make dishes that appeal (or repulse) any taste bud imaginable. 

So to all the history of combined cultures and influences that make up the origin of casseroles, a true mix of everything itself, I am grateful. You have given the Midwest a cultural staple, the assembly of unity no matter your background.