Funeral Potatoes

We went to the cemetery on Saturday. Brandon drove. I sat in the passenger seat and held a small bunch of grocery store daisies in my lap and stared at them because staring at daisies was easier than staring at the road that was taking me to my daughter's grave. Ethan sat behind me, quiet and tall — when did he get tall? — and the other four stayed with my sister Brittany, who offered without being asked, because Brittany has always known when to show up and when to step back, and this was a step-back morning.

Grace's headstone is small. Pink granite. Her full name, the dates — September 3, 2015, to January 14, 2016 — and a line from a hymn Brandon chose: "I am a child of God." I stood there and read the dates and the math was instant: four months, eleven days. I know this number the way I know my own birthday. I will always know this number. I put the daisies down and I didn't say anything and Brandon didn't say anything and Ethan stood between us and didn't say anything, and the three of us were silent together in a way that was not awkward but holy, if holy can mean standing on grass above your baby and not falling apart.

Ethan put his hand on the headstone. Flat, like he was feeling for warmth. He's eleven. He held his hand there for a long time. Then he said, "Okay," and walked back to the car, and Brandon and I followed because Ethan had given us permission to leave and we needed the permission.

That night I made funeral potatoes. Not because anyone died — I mean, yes, someone died, but not today, not newly — but because my hands needed to do the thing they know how to do when grief takes up all the air in a room. Hash browns, cream of chicken soup, sour cream, cheese, butter, cornflake topping. My mother's recipe. The recipe that shows up at every LDS funeral, every potluck, every Tuesday. I've made it a hundred times. I could make it asleep. Maybe I was asleep — the kind of asleep where your body works and your mind floats somewhere above it, watching. The kids ate it. Brandon ate two helpings. Nobody asked why I made funeral potatoes on a Saturday in June. They just ate. That's the grace of children — they eat what you put in front of them and don't ask why your eyes are red.

Sunday morning I woke up and the weight was a little less. Not gone. A little less. Like someone had taken one book off a stack I've been carrying since January. One book. I'll take it.

I wasn’t looking for a new recipe that Saturday—I was looking for the one that already lived in my hands. Funeral potatoes aren’t fancy, and they aren’t meant to be; they’re meant to be made on autopilot while your mind floats somewhere else, and they’re meant to feed people who don’t ask questions. If you need that too, here’s how to make them.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 50 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour | Servings: 10–12

Ingredients

1 bag (30 oz) frozen shredded hash browns, thawed
1 can (10.5 oz) cream of chicken soup, undiluted
1 cup sour cream
2 cups shredded sharp cheddar cheese
1/2 cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, divided
1/2 cup finely diced yellow onion
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
2 cups cornflakes, lightly crushed

Instructions

Preheat and prep. Preheat your oven to 350°F. Grease a 9x13-inch baking dish with nonstick spray or butter and set aside.
Make the filling. In a large bowl, combine the thawed hash browns, cream of chicken soup, sour cream, shredded cheddar, diced onion, garlic powder, salt, and pepper. Melt 6 tablespoons of the butter and stir it into the mixture until everything is evenly combined.
Fill the dish. Spread the potato mixture evenly into the prepared baking dish, smoothing the top with a spatula.
Make the topping. Melt the remaining 2 tablespoons of butter in a small bowl. Add the crushed cornflakes and toss until the flakes are coated. Spread the cornflake topping in an even layer over the potato mixture.
Bake. Bake uncovered for 45–50 minutes, until the edges are bubbling, the center is set, and the cornflake topping is deep golden brown. Let rest 5 minutes before serving.

Nutrition (per serving)

Funeral Potatoes — The Recipe My Hands Know How to Make When Grief Takes Up All the Air