Last Saturday while riding bus number 358 to downtown Seattle to meet my husband, Stewart, for dinner, I passed a kindred soul. A bumper sticker, “drum machines have no soul” caught my attention. Even though I don’t play the drums, I know exactly what the unknown soul meant by it, because I feel the same way about food brought to potluck in those bulky plastic trays from Costco. You know the kind I’m referring to: piles of broccoli, carrots, celery and other unimaginative veggies circled around a tub of what I’m guessing to be, ranch dressing. Those ersatz baby carrots are grown up carrots pared down, and from a nutritional standpoint, raw broccoli isn’t all that digestible unless it’s cooked. But my main objection is the lack of soul, or energy, or whatever you want to call the personal connection that goes into home-cooked food.
If you asked my siblings about the church potlucks we attended as children (we had to; our father was the minister), we’d each name our favorite foods: the ever-present deviled eggs made from the recipe on the mayonnaise jar and sprinkled with paprika, fried chicken (I always made a beeline for that), and of course, old-fashioned brownies, preferably with no nuts. Even the Jell-O salad with bite-sized marshmallows and grapes suspended in gelatin added some pizazz to the affair.
The drill varied little: after the service, bowls, plates and platters were spread out on a ping-pong table in the basement as a line quickly formed. And, as my brother, Scott, reminded me, the legs of the table collapsed one Sunday afternoon sending the food southward. I don’t remember how much we salvaged, but I’ll bet it was most. People on the east side of Anchorage lived in small homes in Nunaka Valley and barely scrimped by. Back then, though, we were all in the same position and no one knew any different, or at least, I didn’t. And during those potlucks, I was rich, and happy, surrounded by people who cared enough to bring their favorite dishes to the church potlucks. So, I’m putting out a call to bring back the old-fashioned potluck, where all the food is homemade, filled with energy, peace, and love.
So, what are your fondest memories of potlucks and favorite dishes? Are there any other deviled-egg lovers out there?
3 responses so far ↓
Scott // September 23, 2008 at 7:06 pm |
Yes, bring back the potluck! It was all simple food and still can be now. Deviled eggs and fried chicken were always at the top of my list, too. And I remember the salmon filets “napped” in barbecue sauce laid out on tin foil.
gabrielle // September 29, 2008 at 3:35 pm |
My grandmother (Nonny) made the most divine deviled eggs and when I came home to visit, she made them for me until she was well over 95. She didn’t have a lot – she grew up poor but she always understood the connection between making things yourself and giving love to others
Ken // November 15, 2008 at 3:04 am |
I remember the deviled eggs, too! Now I live in Hawaii, and potlucks have a different menu. Lots of Asian and Pacific foods. I haven’t seen a deviled egg at a potluck since I’ve been here (31 years).