I lament the demise of the potluck. Once upon a time when you went to a potluck, you would find the best in homemade food. You soon began to recognize who always brought the best food – Mrs. Jones’s potatoes, Mrs. Smith’s cookies – and made a beeline for them. That doesn’t happen anymore. Potlucks devolved into a gathering of the best things we can find at the grocery store. I have to admit, I’m guilty. Despite my slightly above-average ability to cook, a trip to Kroger usually is the extent of my efforts for most potlucks anymore.
Happiness is when Ms. Boss makes a pie for a potluck. Wait a minute, let me correct that statement – happiness is when Ms. Boss makes a pie. Period.
Desserts were the last bastion of homemade cooking. Not any more. I went to a chili supper the other day only to find that the overwhelming majority of the offerings came straight from a box.
Casseroles aren’t a thing anymore either. Growing up, we had casserole all the time. I used to make them quite a bit, but even I have given up on that one. One of the reasons they’ve died? They all tend to taste the same. Take your pick: cream of mushroom, cream of chicken, cream of cheddar. One of the best recipes I acquired was from a Mennonite cookbook on how to make cream of mushroom. The most important part is that cream of mushroom doesn’t have to be just cream of mushroom. Make a basic white sauce and let the other ingredients come from you imagination.
I’ve thought of another idea for a blog – go around the country and visit various church, community, or fund raising suppers and write about it. I’m not just talking about a review of the food, write about the community that has come together around this food. While I’d enjoy the travel, being an anti-social introvert doesn’t help with this kind of endeavor. Besides, my current blog is more than enough.
Smoked sausage was part of my culinary heritage growing up. A certain restaurant chain made their smoked sausage in my hometown. Attempts to sell it in grocery stores failed miserably, but if you were a local and went the factory and said you were having a picnic they’d sell you a huge box. That happened a lot. Spicy, smoky, juicy in a bun with mustard -what’s not to like? They don’t even make them anymore, that’s sad.
Deviled eggs. Deviled eggs were a favorite at potlucks when I was growing up. My father absolutely loved them. I miss him.