In the Colorado Outback, where we are born knowing how to make divinity and date balls, summer ushers in a social season defined by potluck suppers. Anna Nicole Smith and Courtney Love don’t go to potluck suppers, but I do, and I’m here to tell ya that you can get brain damage from eating too much tuna fish casserole with fried onions on top.
Maybe that’s why no one seems to know the origins of the word “potluck.” Some claim it comes from the Irish, who like to prepare dinner in a single pot, or the French, who simmer leftovers on the back of the stove in a pottage. Others claim it dates from 1592, when settlers began to swap recipes with native people for whom “potlatch” meant sharing.
Today potluck suppers define America. They are the gustatorial equivalent of a barn raising. Whether you call them a bake, feed, cook-off or fry, they symbolize community because everyone participates, contributes and overindulges. This is particularly true if Selma serves her Key lime surprise.
Potlucks are as American as apple pie, which is always featured along with hamburgers, hot dogs, slaw, beans and other national delicacies that Eleanor Roosevelt served to the king and queen of England, who were not on Weight Watchers at the time.
Last year, when bureaucrats in Illinois and Washington discovered those states had laws requiring establishments serving food to hire certified food handlers, the nation was threatened at its core. Legislatures and governors acted quickly to protect liberty, justice and the freedom to indulge in Mavis’ pecan pie.
Fortunately, the Colorado Food Service Code has always exempted cuisine for families and fundraisers served at public gatherings from regulations requiring hairnets. A blessing it is too because without potlucks church basements, school gyms and community centers would stand empty. The Book Club might be spared more of Madge’s meatloaf.
Potlucks are the purview of people who use toothpicks and paper plates, people who have been dancing with the same partner for 47 years. They are organized by women who use hair spray and relished by men who sharpen pencils with a knife. They attract people who eat out at the Dairy Queen and take pride in having nine children, all of whom live within a 20-mile radius. Without exception, they cook beef and green beans long enough to be sure they’re dead, and they never eat seafood, not even deep fat fried.
Up at Dry Lake we are forever searching yard sales for hot pads that look like barnyard animals and chintz and wicker cozies for casserole dishes. Our kitchen towels are checkered, and the cords on our hot plates are scorched. We decorate our homes in Early Duck, use oilcloth tablecloths and share even our most cherished pasta recipes on filing cards decorated with sketches of sweet peas. We are the people who keep Pyrex in business because it’s impossible to remember to write your name on the bottom of every pan you’re going to abandon at the community center.
The word “potluck” is synonymous with “home-style,” a euphemism for high cholesterol, high fat and a high chance of requiring an antacid. The ingredients can always be found at the supermarket, prepared in 19 minutes and will, more than likely, involve Miracle Whip in summer and Cool Whip in winter. All dishes can be served in the ugly casserole you received as a wedding present and are, more often than not, white. Mavis’ creamed chicken on top of noodles on top of mashed potatoes took this year’s prize for colorless, comforting and caloric.
Dry Lake has a population of 317 but even more recipes for rhubarb pie. How to crimp the crust has been Topic A for generations of ladies in church basements all over town. Every one of them knows what to do with cream of tartar, how to scald milk, cook with Kyro Syrup and use ginger snaps as seasoning.
Although Emeril Lagasse and thousands of minister’s wives have written potluck cookbooks, not one of them recommends the appropriate wine to accompany any one of the 3 million potluck recipes on the Web.
I plan to address this omission in my forthcoming book, “101 Uses for Chicken Fried Steak,” which will include a history of peanut brittle and a North American field guide to pie socials. It will also share my secret recipe for Sauerkraut Surprise Cake, a family favorite that, in the interest of containing national health-care costs, best remains secret.
