Funeral Potatoes

January 14th was Sunday. Two years. Grace has been gone for two years and I made funeral potatoes in the morning before church, the same as last year, the same as I will every year for as long as I live because this is what I know how to do with grief and it has never once made things worse. Funeral potatoes: hash browns, cream of mushroom soup, sour cream, shredded cheddar, cornflakes on top, baked at 350 until golden and bubbling. My mother's recipe. My grandmother's before that. The dish served at every LDS funeral, potluck, and crisis since approximately 1947. I made it at seven in the morning. The house smelled like it when the kids came downstairs.

The kids knew, in the way that children who have been living with grief for two years know: carefully, sideways, not directly. Ethan said nothing and ate the potatoes. Olivia said: these are really good, Mom, in the voice that is not about the potatoes. Mason sat at the counter and ate in silence. Lily set the table without being asked. Noah ate three servings and then asked if there were more, which I gave him because Noah's appetite for funeral potatoes is not grief, it is just Noah, and this is fine, and it is almost funny, and Grace would have taken the cornflakes off the top and eaten them first because she would have been the kind of toddler who understands the hierarchy of a casserole.

Brandon went to the garage in the evening, which is where he goes. Two years in I have stopped being angry about the garage. He processes grief at a different frequency than I do: lower, slower, less visible, no less real. The therapist said this months ago and I believed it intellectually and now I believe it in the way you believe things after you have watched them be true long enough. He came back in at nine. He sat next to me. He said: two years. I said: two years. We watched a movie. We did not talk about Grace anymore that night. Sometimes the talking is not the point. Sometimes the sitting is the point.

Hi, baby. Two years. The photo is still there. The potatoes are still made. I am still here.

The recipe is below — my mother’s, my grandmother’s before that. It is the simplest thing I know how to make and the most important. If you are making it because you lost someone, I am sorry, and I hope the smell of it baking at seven in the morning does for your house what it does for mine. If you are making it for a potluck or a Sunday dinner or just because you want something warm, that is good too. Funeral potatoes do not require a funeral. They just require showing up.

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 45 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour | Servings: 12

Ingredients

1 (30 oz) bag frozen shredded hash browns, thawed
1 (10.5 oz) can cream of mushroom soup
1 cup sour cream
2 cups shredded sharp cheddar cheese
1/2 cup unsalted butter, melted
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon onion powder
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
2 cups cornflakes, lightly crushed
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted (for topping)

Instructions

Preheat the oven. Set oven to 350°F. Grease a 9x13-inch baking dish.
Mix the base. In a large bowl, stir together the thawed hash browns, cream of mushroom soup, sour cream, shredded cheddar, 1/2 cup melted butter, garlic powder, onion powder, salt, and pepper until evenly combined.
Transfer to the dish. Spread the potato mixture into the prepared baking dish and smooth the top with a spatula.
Add the cornflake topping. In a small bowl, toss the crushed cornflakes with the remaining 2 tablespoons melted butter. Scatter evenly over the potato mixture.
Bake. Place in the oven and bake for 40 to 45 minutes, until the edges are bubbling and the cornflake topping is golden brown.
Rest and serve. Let the casserole sit for 5 to 10 minutes before serving. It holds well in a warm oven for up to an hour if needed.

Nutrition (per serving)

Funeral Potatoes — The Dish I Make Every January 14th