Comfort Food for the Soul: What We Eat When We Win (And When We Lose)
In our home in Finland, food is not just sustenance—it’s our primary love language, our apology mechanism, and our celebration protocol. My wife and I have an unspoken rule: when words fail, we cook.
When it rains, she makes khichudi—a warm, spiced rice-and-lentil comfort dish that tastes like a hug. When the temperature hits 25°C (which counts as “hot summer” in Finland), I make elaborate cocktails and coconut ice cream shakes. When we fight, we retreat to the kitchen and emerge with offerings: her with perfectly crafted ramen, me with experimental noodles drenched in “random sauce.”
This is the story of how food became our emotional currency, and what science says about why certain dishes can repair a broken evening or amplify a victory.
The Apology Dessert That Made Me Forget Everything
We’d had one of those fights. The kind where you’re both technically right and both completely wrong, and the apartment feels smaller than usual. I was sulking in the living room, she was silent in the kitchen.
Then she emerged with a creation that can only be described as “architectural reconciliation”: layers of chocolate cake alternating with vanilla ice cream, the whole thing held together by what I can only assume was love and spite.
“I made this,” she said, setting it on the table.
I took one bite. The cake was moist, the ice cream was melting into the layers, and the combination was so perfectly balanced between sweet and rich that I forgot what we were fighting about.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“I know,” she said. “That’s why I made it.”
That dessert didn’t just taste good—it was a complete emotional reset. One moment I was convinced I was right and she was being unreasonable. The next moment, all I could think was: I’m married to someone who makes layered ice cream cake when she’s upset, and that’s the best decision I’ve ever made.
The Science of “I’m Sorry” Food
There’s actual neuroscience behind why my wife’s apology dessert worked.
When we eat foods high in sugar and fat—like layered chocolate cake with ice cream—our brains release dopamine and opioids, the same neurochemicals involved in pleasure and reward. A 2011 study published in Current Biology found that comfort foods activate the brain’s reward pathways even before we taste them—just seeing them triggers anticipation.
But the real magic is in emotional context. Research from Appetite journal (2014) shows that comfort foods are often tied to social connections—foods that remind us of care, safety, and positive relationships. When my wife makes that dessert, she’s not just giving me sugar; she’s communicating care through a medium I understand.
The dessert says: “I care enough about this relationship to spend 30 minutes in the kitchen while angry.”
And that’s more powerful than any verbal apology.
My Apology Language: Noodles with Random Sauce
My apologies look different.
When I’ve messed up—forgot to take out the trash, said something dismissive, didn’t listen when I should have—I head to the kitchen with a mission: make noodles so good she forgets why she’s annoyed.
My process is chaos. I grab whatever’s in the fridge: soy sauce, chili paste, garlic, maybe some sesame oil, oyster sauce if we have it, a squeeze of lime, a random spice jar I can’t read because it’s in Finnish. I cook chicken, toss it with the noodles, pour the sauce over everything, and hope.
The first time I did this, she looked at the plate skeptically.
“What is this?”
“An apology,” I said.
She took a bite. Then another. Then she smiled.
“Okay,” she said. “We’re good.”
My noodles are never the same twice. Sometimes they’re too salty. Sometimes they’re perfect. But they always say the same thing: I’m trying, and I care that you’re upset.
And somehow, that’s enough.
Weather-Based Emotional Eating: A Finnish Survival Guide
Living in Finland has taught us that weather dictates mood, and mood dictates food.
When It Rains: Khichudi and the Best Tea in the World
Finnish rain is different. It’s not dramatic—it’s persistent, gray, and somehow gets inside your bones. On rainy days, my wife makes khichudi, a Bengali rice-and-lentil dish cooked with turmeric, ginger, and ghee until it’s soft and fragrant.
She serves it with the best tea I’ve ever tasted—strong, milky, perfectly spiced. I don’t know what she does differently. Same tea bags, same milk, but when she makes it on a rainy day, it tastes like the rain doesn’t matter anymore.
The Science: Warm, savory comfort foods increase body temperature and trigger the release of serotonin, the neurotransmitter associated with mood regulation. A study in Psychosomatic Medicine (2003) found that comfort foods reduce stress responses—not just psychologically, but physiologically. The warmth, the spices, the ritual of making tea—all of it tells your brain: You’re safe. You’re cared for.
When It’s Hot: Cocktails, Shakes, and Cold Coffee
Finnish summers are brief but glorious. When the temperature climbs above 20°C, I become an amateur mixologist.
Lemonade with fresh mint. Coconut ice cream shakes with condensed milk. Mango lassi. Cold brew coffee with cream (my wife makes this—hers is always better than mine, and I don’t know why).
The Science: Cold, sweet drinks in hot weather trigger thermoregulation and dopamine release. Research in Appetite (2015) suggests that consuming cold foods in warm weather enhances mood more than neutral-temperature foods—not just because they’re refreshing, but because they create a pleasurable contrast.
Plus, making elaborate drinks for my wife in summer feels like a gesture of abundance. Look, the sun is out for 18 hours a day, and I made you a drink with three kinds of fruit. Life is good.
Fight Recovery Food: Ramen, Pasta, and Beef Sizzlers
Here’s the truth about our fights: they’re small, stupid, and usually resolved with food.
I’ll say something without thinking. She’ll get quiet (the dangerous kind of quiet). I’ll realize I messed up. She’ll retreat to the kitchen.
Twenty minutes later, she emerges with one of the following:
1. Ramen (The Ultimate Peace Offering)
Not instant ramen—real ramen. Slow-cooked broth, perfectly soft-boiled eggs, vegetables, chili oil. The kind of dish that takes effort and patience.
When she makes ramen after a fight, what she’s really saying is: I’m still mad, but I care about you enough to make you something that takes 45 minutes.
2. Pasta (When She’s Feeling Fancy)
Her pasta is ridiculous. Garlic, olive oil, cherry tomatoes, fresh basil if we have it, parmesan. Simple, but she does something to the garlic that makes it taste like it was grown in heaven.
3. Beef Sizzler (When I’m Trying to Impress Her)
This is my signature move. Thinly sliced beef marinated in soy sauce, ginger, garlic, and a bit of brown sugar. I sear it in a screaming-hot pan, serve it over rice with sautéed onions and peppers, and pour the pan drippings over everything.
The first time I made it, I had no plan—just beef, a hot pan, and desperation. She took one bite and her expression softened.
“Okay,” she said. “You’re forgiven.”
Now it’s my go-to apology dish. I call it “Beef Sizzler à la Desperation.”
Her Comfort Food: Soupy Noodles and Rice Bowls
When my wife is stressed, sad, or just done with the world, she makes herself soupy noodles. Not broth with noodles—soupy noodles. Thin rice noodles in a light, salty broth with vegetables and sometimes an egg.
She eats it curled up on the couch with Ace nearby, and the world gets a little smaller and a little safer.
Other times, she makes elaborate rice bowls: seasoned rice topped with sautéed vegetables, fried egg, sesame seeds, a drizzle of soy sauce. They’re beautiful and balanced and taste like she’s taking care of herself.
I love watching her make these dishes because it’s one of the few times she cooks just for herself, with no one to impress or please. It’s pure comfort.
The Psychology of Celebratory Feasts vs. Rage Snacking
Our eating patterns split into two distinct modes:
Victory Food: When We Win
When something goes well—a project succeeds, we finish a difficult board game, Ace does something funny—we cook elaborate meals. Multi-course dinners. Homemade cakes. Fancy rice dishes.
The Science: This is called celebratory eating, and it’s tied to positive reinforcement. A study in Frontiers in Psychology (2016) found that eating special foods after a success amplifies positive emotions and creates stronger memory associations. We’re not just celebrating the win—we’re encoding it with flavor.
Defeat Food: When We Lose
When things go wrong—a bad day at work, a frustrating argument, a game night where Ace knocked over the board one too many times—we snack. Chips. Chocolate. Whatever’s in the cabinet.
But here’s the interesting part: we don’t eat these things alone. We sit on the couch together, sharing a bag of chips, and the snacking becomes a shared ritual of it’s fine, we’re fine, life is fine.
The Science: This is stress eating, but with a twist. Research shows that eating comfort foods with others (Appetite, 2014) reduces stress more effectively than eating alone. The food matters, but the company matters more.
When my wife and I stress-snack together, we’re not numbing emotions—we’re sharing them.
Food as Love Language: Why It Works for Us
Not everyone communicates through food. Some people use words. Some use touch. Some use acts of service.
But for us, food is the most honest language we have.
When my wife makes me tea on a rainy day, she’s saying: I see that you’re cold, and I want to warm you.
When I make her a ridiculous cocktail in summer, I’m saying: I want you to have something bright and sweet.
When she spends 30 minutes making ramen after a fight, she’s saying: I’m still here. We’re still us.
The Science: According to research on attachment and caregiving (Personality and Social Psychology Review, 2013), food-sharing is one of the oldest forms of bonding. It signals care, investment, and the willingness to provide resources—even when emotions are complicated.
Food bypasses the parts of our brain that get stuck on who’s right and who’s wrong. It goes straight to the part that says: I’m cared for. I’m safe. I’m loved.
And sometimes, that’s all you need.
The Truth About Comfort Food
Comfort food gets a bad reputation. People treat it like a weakness—something you eat when you’ve “given up” on healthy eating or emotional regulation.
But I think that’s wrong.
Comfort food is adaptive. It’s a way of managing stress, celebrating joy, and maintaining connection when words aren’t enough.
My wife’s layered ice cream cake didn’t solve our fight. But it created a moment of shared pleasure that reminded us why we chose each other.
My chaotic noodles with random sauce don’t erase my mistakes. But they show that I’m willing to try, to improvise, to care.
Khichudi in the rain doesn’t make the weather better. But it makes the rain feel less heavy.
These foods aren’t crutches—they’re tools. And in the right hands, they’re powerful.
What We Eat, and Why It Matters
Here’s what I’ve learned from years of cooking and eating our feelings:
- Food is communication. When you can’t find the words, try the kitchen.
- Comfort food works because it’s tied to care. The dish matters less than the effort.
- Celebrate with food. It makes the good moments better and the memories stronger.
- Stress-eat together. Sharing chips on the couch is underrated therapy.
- Let your partner cook for you. Receiving care is just as important as giving it.
My wife and I will probably never stop fighting over small things. But as long as she keeps making ramen, and I keep making noodles with random sauce, and we keep sharing soupy noodles on hard days, I think we’ll be fine.
Because at the end of the day, the best comfort food isn’t about the recipe.
It’s about the person who made it for you.