Halloween reading

When I was 14, a friend decided to throw an Ouija board party while her parents were out. We'd watched pirated footage of The Exorcist, where Regan (played by Linda Blair) found and played with a board in her mother's attic and even though the thought of spending the rest of our lives vomiting pea soup, wanking with a crucifix, yeeting heavy furniture acoss the room and telling astronauts "you're going to die up there" didn't much appeal, we decided the risk was worth it. Those of a similar vintage (early Gen X) will probably remember the semi-hysteria over Ouija boards; parents would have absolutely done their nut had they found out. Any head swivelling would be from my mother knocking me into the middle of next week. Undeterred, we procured a board from the Head Shop in Ipswich, stashed it in my friend's attic and bided our time.

To cut a long story short, a huge crack appeared in the wall of the house five minutes into our session, and I, screaming my head off, legged it, ending up on a nearby building site to hide inside a huge cement pipe for the rest of the night. The fear of being ravaged by a demon inside a pipe was a better option than going home at midnight to face my mother, who believed I was at another, far more sedate, friend's house to revise for exams before sleeping over.

Since then, I've read Stephen King, suffered through Eng Lit Gothic novel modules, felt bored during my upper school's film club screening of the original Nosferatu (its showing of CND's 'War Games' was much scarier!), camped overnight at Borley Rectory (a local teenage rite of passage back in the day; the resulting cider hangover was scarier), and even watched Insidious. The latter terrified my husband and me so much that when it came to bedtime, we climbed the stairs side by side because neither of us wanted to go first or last. I realise how basic this all sounds to connoisseurs of horror, but I'm a conflicted wuss when it comes to deliberate scares. My schematic framework goes something like this: 'Ghosts do not exist'; 'I am frightened of ghosts'. And by frightened, I mean absolutely terrified. Before my grandfather died, we talked a lot about death and the tension between what he hoped for (seeing his mother and father again, being truly free of all worry, watching over us all) and what he suspected might actually happen (nothing). I adored him; everyone did, but I begged him not to return to watch over me. "I cannot cope with Ghost Roy," I said (he insisted on my using his Christian name, possibly because he was actually my biological great uncle, having informally taken in my mother, who had been rejected by her own mother, Roy's wife's sister). He laughed and promised he'd give my house a swerve, dying in April 2000. To date, he has kept his word. I miss him terribly, but not enough to welcome his ghost. If I'm being honest, I don't think I'll ever miss anyone that much.

Some people aren't wired to enjoy horror. I don't find it exhilarating to be scared or be made to jump, nor do I want my entire worldview (you die, you're gone, that's it, hopefully people will remember you kindly) to be challenged by an encounter with a ghost. If I met one in my house, I'd leave immediately, never to return; it'd be so fast I wouldn't even pause long enough to retrieve my HRT. ( My definition of Ultimate Threat.) Yet I like the playfulness of Halloween, and adult-me can just about cope with the concept of Día de Muertos and its returning spirits so long as they don't rock up at my house.

The psychology of horror as a genre is simple: we know we are vulnerable and must manage the feelings this engenders. I tend to deploy humour and playfulness. I don't much agree with Freud, but he was right to consider humour the most mature defence mechanism of all. Hence, my lighthearted guide to Halloween-themed food writing, which is, for me, the most acceptably benign way to mark this spiritually semipermeable and suggestible time of year.

“Most people will tell you growing up means you stop believing in Halloween things - I’m telling you the reverse. You start to grow up when you understand that the stuff that scares you is part of the air you breathe.”
― Peter Straub

Online reading:

Rosemary's Baby, one of the greatest horror films ever made, inspired this recipe post by Michael Procopio. "Infants of Satan are much like ordinary babies, but with extra-special dietary needs," he writes. "Iron, flesh, and fungus are important to their developmental health, but aren't found in sufficient amounts in regular baby food. This easy, delicious recipe is tailored to those needs and will help your baby to grow strong and eventually subjugate the world."

Linda Duffin's Mummy Sausage Plait went viral a few years ago and deservedly so. Yesterday, she posted a photo of some darling saffron and rosemary buns in the shape of little pumpkins. They are adorable.

Nigella has a great Halloween recipe section on her website.

Cassie Best's pumpkin ghost cake looks good.

I loved Jess Huang's essay for Thrillist. "He saw Halloween as a reminder of the generosity and joy of his adopted country," she writes about her grandfather's joyful transcultural Halloween celebrations.

Afghanistan-born Humaira Ghilzai writes about her first Halloween in the USA.

Stephen Smith on why the gothic style will never die.

In 2023, English Heritage handed out Soul Cakes at its sites. Here's a recipe.

Dr Alessandra Pina, co-author of A Gothic Cookbook, hosts Fear Feasts, a podcast about the connections between food, eating and horror.

Some fiction: Thinner by Stephen King is a great novella for Halloween, particularly in the face of endless chatter about Mounjaro. I haven't read a collection of short stories called 'Slashertorte: An Anthology of Cake Horror' but I like the title. For anyone dressing up as a cannibal this year, The Indifferent Stars Above by Daniel James Brown tells the story of twenty-one-year-old Sarah Graves and the ghastly decision she and the other members of her party had to make after becoming snowbound in the Sierra Nevada mountains. Taaqtumi, an Anthology of Arctic Horror Stories has intrigued me, but am I brave enough to read it?

On the Path of the Marigolds: Living Traditions of Mexico’s Day of the Dead is a visually arresting book of photos shot by Ann Murdy with contributions from Denise Chavez and Cesareo Moreno.

This Reddit thread on Halloween food in films is a great resource if you're throwing a party and want some inspiration. Practical Magic is mine: "Eye of newt and toe of frog, wool of bat and tongue of dog. Adder's fork and blind worm's sting... Barbados lime is just the thing. Cragged salt like a sailor's stubble! Flip the switch and let the cauldron bubble!" Sally & Gillian: "Midnight margaritas!" Other favourites? The cannibalistic dinner party in Rocky Horror, the dinner scene in Beetlejuice, and the incredibly tense meal in 10 Cloverfield Lane. I love it when directors spit in the face of Norman Rockwell. Victoria Potenza explores this further as does Hans Staats in 'Let Them Eat Steak'.

"You think this is a fuckin' costume? This is a way of life!" (iykyk)....Return of the Living Dead is my very favourite horror film for two reasons: it's kitsch, which cancels out dumb terror, and the soundtrack, which includes The Cramps, is superb. You HAVE to watch it. As someone said on Reddit: "Love that this incredible film can go from being a silly, hilarious black comedy to the most existentially horrifying depiction of undeath in cinema and then straight back again." The Undead remain sentient; we aren't allowed to forget who they once were. It's filled with pathos.

Most of the books below can be ordered from my Bookshop.Org Halloween section where I earn a small commission from each sale.

Writing/research-led cookbooks:

A Gothic Cookbook: Hauntingly Delicious Recipes Inspired by 13 Classic Tales by Alessandra Pino and Ella Buchan - a bewitching, intelligent and essential primer for lovers of food and horror. Ella writes about it here. After reading A Gothic Cookbook, Valerie Stivers was inspired to write this for The Paris Review.

To Die For: A Cookbook of Gravestone Recipes by Rosie Grant- inspired by Rosie's travels around the world hunting down gravestone recipes for her TikTok site @ghostlyarchive. Here's an interview with Rosie plus a short extract from her book.

Dining with the Dead: A Feast for the Souls on Day of the Dead - A Mexican Cookbook by Mariana Nuño Ruiz and Ian McEnroe - gorgeously photographed and designed. Packed with tips, guides to traditional ingredients, and more than 100 recipes, co-written by one of Mexico's best chefs.

Tie-ins:

Dead in the Kitchen: The Official Grateful Dead Cookbook by Gabi Moskowitz - one for the Deadheads and lovers of kitsch cookbooks. Not strictly Halloween-themed per se, but how could I not include it after seeing the cover? (My favourite Grateful Dead song is Touch of Grey because it sounds like something Mr Rogers might sing in the middle of a depressive episode. It's both jolly and dark.)

The Official Wednesday Cookbook: The Woefully Weird Recipes of Nevermore Academy by Mari Mancusi and Jarrett Melendez - 60 'macabre' recipes from Nevermore Academy, along the lines of 'Wednesday's Woeful Waffles' (they are black).

Ghostbusters: The Official Cookbook by Erik Burnham and Jenn Fujikawa- 50 recipes inspired by old and new characters. Loads of marshmallow recipes, no Jello, and most of them are creatively named rather than intrinsically creative, iykwim?

Elvira's Cookbook From Hell by Cassandra Peterson - camp, kitsch, all the drama. See if you can find her film, Elvira: Mistress of the Dark. I remember watching her MTV Halloween special in 1984; our student house was the only one with cable, so we ended up with a large percentage of the student body crammed into the sitting room. Elvira was a vegetarian for many years, and it was a bit daft of me to be surprised by that because goths tend to be peaceful, gentle souls. Vegetarianism would fit their worldview.

The Nightmare Before Dinner: Over 50 Hauntingly Good Dishes and Drinks to Die For by Zach Neil - recipes are based on meals served at the Beetlehouse restaurants, and again, there's a reliance on creative naming, but they're fun nonetheless. The Edward Burgerhands is pinioned with a pair of scissors, for example. Every recipe has a vegan alternative.

The Room on the Broom Cookbook by Julia Donaldson and Axel Scheffler - lovable, easy to follow, creatively named recipes. I love the 'fruit wands'. Any kid would love this.

General Halloween Cookery:

My First Halloween Cookbook by David Atherton and Jess Rose - explanatory hand-drawn illustrations, and cute, easy recipes that will appeal to younger kids.

The Little Gothic Bakeshop: Over 50 Recipes with Sweetness and Shadows in Every Bite, and The Wicked Baker: Cakes and Treats to Die For by Helena Garcia- two books from a former GBBO contestant (like David Atherton, above) who is fully committed to all things goth. Lots of spooky, cross-cultural recipes beautifully styled and photographed.

The Hoxton Street Monster Supplies Cookbook: Everyday recipes for the living, dead and undead by Hoxton Street Monster Supplies - a properly mad and adorable cookbook from "London's, and quite possibly the world's, only purveyor of quality goods for monsters". The store has been going since 1818; they know their stuff!

Monsters, etc:

The Art of Eating through the Zombie Apocalypse: A Cookbook and Culinary Survival Guide - living off the land, reframed. Think of it as a survival manual x field guide x imaginative recipes.