steak.

"She's been discharged.  And all she wants now is a steak." -my mother, referring to my grandmother, who was recently hospitalized


Over the weekend, my grandmother was admitted to the hospital with chest pains.  Tests were run, blood pressure was monitored, and she was released two nights later with a clean bill of health.  However, she was disappointed with the hospital food.  So when I called my mother last night for an update, she told me that she, my father, and my grandparents had just left the hospital and were headed straight to The Outback to get Grammy a steak.  She didn't want to go home first, didn't want to freshen up.  She wanted that steak.

I laughed at this news, which is objectively funny but not at all surprising.  My grandmother loves food, and loves all different kinds.  She's the adventurous one, the one who isn't afraid to order a new item every time she goes out to dinner, the one who wants a bite of everything.  Also, she always wants dessert.

I realized that I'd had three phone conversations with my mother over the course of Grammy's hospital stay:

1) Saturday morning: My mother answered her cell phone and told me that she and my father were in the car, on their way to pick up my grandfather for breakfast.  After a good meal out, they would head to the hospital for visiting hours.

2) Saturday night: My parents had just picked up my grandfather, and they were on their way to The Olive Garden for dinner before visiting Grammy.  My grandfather insisted that they had to eat first - no sense visiting Grammy on an empty stomach.

3) Sunday night: I got the news that Grammy was fine; my mother was in her car, following my father to Outback so Grammy could have her steak.

There's something very comforting about being in a family that plans a day around meals.  I'm sure nutritionists would call this food-obsessed, sociologists would point to increasing obesity in American families, and psychologists may wonder why we still frantically try to fill that basic need when we no longer have to hunt for days to feed ourselves.

I say, we go with the flow.  It's true that Italian families are notoriously food-centric, and of course, mine is no different.  But we don't live in Italy, so several generations have adapted to the American way of eating - the use of microwaves, pre-packaged spaghetti, sauce from a jar (but only when there's no time to make it from scratch).  While some of the foods have changed, the value of eating together has not changed: it's a guaranteed time of the day when the family is together, and it represents that everything is as it should be.  If a meal is skipped, something must be terribly wrong.  Eating meals as usual reassures us that even if Grammy is in the hospital, even if there are a few unknowns, we are going to make it.  We will have a meal, clean the plates, and get on with it. 

Knowing that my parents and grandfather were consistently eating - and eating well, I might add, not just hospital cafeteria fare - did give me a sense of peace and comfort.  If Grammy was in serious danger, they would have remained bedside.  I'm sure they even tried to stay with her, but it's no use fighting with an Italian woman/mother/grandmother about whether or not you need to eat in that instant: the conclusion is always that you need to eat.  The confidence I had that Grammy was indeed encouraging them to eat also gave me comfort - it meant that she was not concerned enough with whatever was going on at the hospital to forget that her husband, daughter, and son-in-law needed three good meals that day.  She is, by nature, fuss-free, and doesn't like people lavishing attention on her when she thinks it isn't necessary - but she depends on my grandfather with her very life, so if she was comfortable with him leaving the hospital for a bowl of pasta, then I know things were ok.  Things would move on; life would get on; we would get on with it.

And after finally eating her steak (no doubt accompanied by a serving of mashed potatoes, green beans, a glass of ice water with a piece of lemon, and her own order of dessert), I know my grandmother will get on it with it, too.