by Vanessa Chiasson
I was about eight years old when I started serving tea within arm’s reach of a coffin.
This isn’t the beginning of a macabre fairytale. You see, I had a Cape Breton childhood. That meant serving tea at every function, from church fetes to fundraisers to—you guessed it—wakes and funerals.
A Cape Breton tea is much more than its namesake beverage. Tea is ritual, refreshment and reckoning, with a side of sandwiches and small sweets. Hosting a community event without a tea is unthinkable. At a funeral or wake, it’s sacrilege. As such, all hands are on deck. The requisite hot drinks and light eats are always organized, prepared and served by women. Nice little girls are expected to help—or at least they were during the formative years of my childhood. Whether you actually knew the deceased was irrelevant, and casket-side squeamishness was out of the question.
The job of organizing a proper tea typically falls to a combination of the deceased’s family and the women of their respective church. Extended family, friends and community members contribute ample nibbles. However, the church ladies are on hand to balance things out should the deceased not have a large family or (scandal!) their family can’t be relied upon to organize a respectable tea. I can’t count the number of times my mother got a late evening phone call, asking if she’d prepare something for the wake of a virtual stranger, all because she was the kind of lady who understood the assignment and could be counted on to deliver a neatly sliced zucchini loaf.
The church ladies also marshal the volunteers who arrive early to stoke the furnace, plug in the coffee urns and take receipt of shortbread, pink-frosted cherry bars and ham salad rolls flecked with little green specks of sweet relish. No wonder that young girls who could be counted upon to wear a clean shirt and balance a tray of cookies were pressed into service!
At most celebrations of life, a person is remembered for their deeds and character. Eats are an afterthought. But not in Cape Breton! There, wakes and funerals have one purpose: to allow the mourners to judge the dearly departed and their family based on the quality of the tea. As such, you must strike a tricky balance. First, is the tea piping hot and adequately strong? Have you mastered the basics (airy biscuits, creamy egg salad sandwiches, robust molasses cookies), but also included something special, yet homey (Queen Anne squares, Hello Dolly squares, date squares)? Do you have food that’s appropriately hearty for those who have travelled a long distance, like a platter of deli meat, cheese and rolls? Do you have sweets that aren’t too sweet (like lemon loaf), but also some truly sweet sweets (like ‘pork pies’, a tiny tart that’s filled with whipped dates and zero meat)?
When my grandfather, a respected municipal councillor who successfully advocated for a non-denominational, village-owned funeral home, passed away, a family friend really outdid herself.
She brought homemade apple pies and a basket laden with fried chicken to his wake. She certainly didn’t do that for just anyone! I was just a teenager when he died, but I still remember her softly folded pie crusts and the golden-brown wicker basket that held the chicken. Alas, I didn’t try either as I was—you guessed it—serving tea! These culinary delicacies were irrefutable proof of the esteem in which my grandfather was held, as was my tireless clearing of cups and saucers.
I’m not sure why sharing and serving tea became so important in Cape Breton, but I have a theory. The island has a history of economic struggle. Many of our most delicious treats, including oatcakes and bread with molasses, are actually quite thrifty. Could it be that when everyone contributed their best frugal yet fantastic recipe, the entire community ate well? In any case, it’s a tradition I’m glad to have been a part of, open caskets and all.
Curiously, there was one event in my Cape Breton childhood where tea wasn’t commonly served: Weddings. Perhaps everyone felt that tea was redundant when a wedding dinner was imminent. But when I got married, I saw the need. Guests had time to kill between the ceremony and the reception while we were having our photos taken. Light refreshments would be just the thing. I reached out to the women who usually handle such matters at the church with my request. Alas, they were rather befuddled. A tea? At a wedding? I was having trouble communicating my vision until I said, “Imagine it’s like a funeral, but everyone’s alive.” That did the trick. Their dainty sandwiches and squares were much appreciated and, for once, I didn’t have to serve a thing.
