Now anybody who knows me or even who sees me will testify that I’m no stranger to food. Most people take it for granted that we live in a dualistic universe. Left/right, Up/down/Good/bad, On/off, Yin/Yang, “for every Jack there’s a Jenny (or Jimmy). If you accept this premise, then it follows that cooks must have diners to keep the universe in balance. That bring me to the crux of this little tale. I HATE POTLUCKS! There…I said it. I can sense a disruption in the Force.
Potlucks are sacred. Think about it. What is the most famous Christian themed painting? Don’t even suggest the Cistine Chapel. First of all, that is fresco, not a painting. Second, if that’s all Adam had to work with, there never would have been a Cain or Abel. DaVinci’s The Last Supper is the obvious answer.
We don’t know for sure if the meal was catered or if everybody brought a covered dish or if they were eating at the Upper Room Bistro, but food plays an important role in the Judeo/Christian tradition. So what brings me to the heretical statement, “I hate potlucks.”? I thought you’d never ask!
Let me begin by saying that the traditional premise of a potluck is that everybody brings something that they’ve prepared. A bucket of KFC, a bag of potato chips, a 2 liter bottle of soda don’t count. So what happens is the cooks go to town and fix all sorts of amazing food. The deadbeats bring a bag of Oreos or a corkscrew. Somehow it doesn’t seem quite egalitarian. Now if you are a widow and a mite is all you have, then I understand. Come in. Eat. You are welcome. Go back for seconds. Now some will say that if the entree is provided, then it’s not a potluck, but in my world, if my kitchen is somehow involved in my attending an event, it’s a potluck.
Now, back to my premise. First, I already stated that in my binary universe, I’m an eater, not a cook. Yes, I can cook. I maintain that any fool can follow a recipe. Just today I fixed a scrumptious Autumn pork roast with fall vegetables. It was wonderful. Did I enjoy eating it? Absolutely! Did I enjoy cooking it? No.
Second, consider the preparation time. There is one or possibly more trips to the grocery store. All of that adds up. It hardly takes any time to say, “potluck” but it takes hours to prepare one. I’m retired and even I don’t have that kind of time!
Third, paper plates and plastic forks are adequate for supporting and shoveling food, but for tasting and enjoying the layers of flavors dancing on your palate, they are totally inadequate. The quality of the food and the hard work that went into it’s preparation simply cannot be appreciated with such primitive tools.
Speaking of quality and taste brings me to my fourth point — transportation. So the food is lovingly prepared at home. Temperature, texture and presentation are all just perfect. But then you have to schlep your concoctions all the way to wherever the gathering is. It would take a miracle of the stature of parting the Red Sea to get that food to it’s destination intact and at the correct temperature. With the sudden stops, turns and accelerations, part of the food ends up on the floor of the car with the balance disturbed beyond recognition in it’s container.
Cleanup is the next item under consideration. Not only do you have your pots, pans, stove, oven, spoons, mixer, blender or whatever to clean up, but to add insult to injury, you also have the spills in the car to deal with.
Sixth, cost. Why am I bringing $50 worth of food to a potluck when I can have a fine meal served to me in a nice restaurant for less. Plus, no preparation, no clean up, no hassle.
Seven, self control. Potlucks are diet busters. Very bad for your health. True, the KFC and the potato chips are easy to pass up, but all that homemade goodness is impossible to resist plus it would be an insult to the person who brought it if you didn’t at least have a taste. Right?
Eight, the setting. First there are the lines. I hate standing in lines, but there we all are, queued up in breathless anticipation, salivating with rumbling stomachs wondering why some people take so long to make a choice. You load up your plate because you don’t know what all the choices are and you don’t want to go hungry. Better a biscuit in hand than an empty casserole dish in the bush. Finally, you run the line and begin searching for a place to sit. Do you sit with your little clique of friends, or try to make new friends while you chow down? What if all the seat at a table are taken and you have to start a new table? What if nobody wants to sit with you? How humiliating! And then there’s the noise. Everybody talking at once. Impossible to have a conversation without shouting. Not good for the digestion.
Nine, the clean up. First you help clear tables, stack chairs, gather trash, wash dishes, sweep the floor and restore order. Then you go home and attack the kitchen that you hurriedly left in chaos some hours before.
Ten, you are worn out physically, emotionally and socially. Now wasn’t that fun? The good news is that there are only three more potlucks to go before the end of the year!