Mmmmmmm … lasagna. Rich, hearty, cheesy goodness. Comfort in every forkful. At least it is for some. For others, it’s creamy mashed potatoes. Or homemade macaroni and cheese. And let’s not forget chocolate.

These days, life is stressful. The economy is uncertain. Layoffs lurk around every corner. Not to mention the ordinary stressors of day-to-day life. What is it about having a bad day that makes you go home and reach for a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and a spoon?

Some call it the mac and cheese index. Forget looking at what’s going on with Wall Street. Just take a peek at restaurant menus if you really want to see what’s going on with the economy. The proliferation of meatloaf and mashed potatoes at high-end restaurants has to mean something.

While recessions might ultimately be good for your health (check out Dr. Chris Ruhm’s research), in the short run, there’s comfort in the candy isle.

Riley Wilson, 2, enjoys one of summer's greatest comfort foods - juicy watermelon.

Why? Partly because we’re programmed to associate food with comfort, says Jill Shaw, nutritionist with the Student Health Center. “It can be traced back to the moment of birth. In the first hours of life, we’re fed in the comfort of Mommy’s arms.”

As children grow, parents often use food as a way to reward and comfort. Skinned knee? Let’s get a Popsicle. End of baseball season? Lunch at McDonald’s.

“Let’s face it – they’re called Happy Meals,” Shaw jokes.

Little wonder, then, as adults, food becomes a source of comfort and connection to home and childhood. And it’s an acceptable vice.

Shaw can relate to the desire for serotonin-inducing carbs. In grad school, she developed a fondness for McDonald’s apple pies.

“Food is not solely what you put in your stomach,” Shaw says. “As a nutritionist, that was a red flag for me. It ends up, I was bored. I needed a hobby.”

The idea that food is more than a fuel source is a key element in Rich Goldberg’s teaching. As a professor of interior architecture, Goldberg attempts to launch the creative process by asking his students for their favorite food memories.

“My typical question: ‘You’re tired. What’s the one dish you’re thinking about, that you want to cook to release the tension?’ Their eyes light up. It’s like thinking of Santa Claus,” he says. “It breaks defenses down more than anything else I’ve tried.”

And it’s universal. A tenured professor or a shy student will have similar reactions, he says.

He often has the students write down the recipes and the stories behind them. After 20 years of teaching, he has folders full of these emotional responses. They are as complex as people are, he says.

For himself, his memories center on working in the kitchen with his mother. She was the cook and he her sous chef. As an Eastern European cook, she always had her hands in pots and pans. Goldberg can still remember the smell, the sound and the steam rising into his face as onion hit oil.

“Food is the center of the universe,” he says. “It’s the most important thing we do.”