I long for when I'm feeling lonely or harassed or unloved or at least unpampered.
Few people share the same comfort foods.
I have my own cupboard-full, based on some unfathomable links to memories otherwise mostly forgotten. Jello, for instance. Oh yes, and it must be buried in whipped Pet Milk. We were pretty poor, as you may have surmised, and I guess in retrospect that Mom couldn't afford real whipping cream in a carton. WAS whipped cream.