With the holidays right around the corner, potlucks are, too. Growing up in a huge family, we always served potluck-style meals when everyone got together. My mom has eight siblings, I have more than 40 cousins, and when we were all in one place, it was total chaos. I loved those dinners, but that’s changed as I’ve gotten older.
When we moved from California to the Midwest, I learned that potlucks were also called pitch-ins, carry-ins, and covered-dish meals. That last one threw me for a loop, but whatever you call them, the idea is the same: everybody brings something to share. Whether it’s a big party, work lunch, or a holiday celebration, people love them some potlucks.
And they're apparently a lot more trusting than I am.
Do You Know Who Made That?
I’m not normally a judgey person, but when it comes to eating food made by others, I can be a really judgey bitch.
If I’ve been to your home and spotted a dirty kitchen, I’m not touching your casserole.
Oh?
You let your cats walk on your countertops?
Absofrickinglutely not.
If you’ve told me you sometimes leave food out overnight and then stick it back in the fridge to eat later, how do I know you didn’t do that with that hot dish you brought to my house?
Then there’s potluck etiquette. Bring your food in a crockpot or your favorite casserole pan. Cool. But please take it home and wash it yourself. Why am I elbow-deep in your cheesy potatoes while everybody else is still having fun? Disposable pans exist, people.
I'm Not The Only Anti-Potlucker Out There
I asked my Facebook friends if I was the only one who felt this way. Turns out, there are plenty of potluck haters, and some have stories that make my concerns seem pretty reasonable.
“I’ve had food poisoning twice in my life. Once from frozen fruit that I later learned was recalled. The other time was at a back-to-school teacher potluck.”
Another friend shared this family dinner nightmare.
“Years ago, my aunt had the family over for a holiday dinner. She had a couple of cats. One climbed onto the counter and ate part of the middle of a dish. She discovered it, made it get down, and then covered the spot back up and served it.”
Covered. The. Spot. Back. Up.
And just when I thought sticking to something simple might be the answer, somebody shared this:
“Thought a peanut butter sandwich would be safe at a church potluck. Cut it in half for my daughter, and there was as much cat hair as peanut butter. That was 30+ years ago. Still haunts me.”
Now it gets to haunt me, too.
Listen, I understand why people love 'em. Everybody brings something so nobody has to cook an entire meal. There's lots of variety, and you might discover your new favorite recipe. I used to love all of that.
But now that I'm older and wiser, I need to know who made what before anything lands on my plate. If I know what your kitchen looks like, I might eat it...or I might not because I know what your kitchen looks like.
If I don’t know you, that's an automatic nope to your homemade dish. I’ll be over by that store-bought seven-layer dip Susan brought…unless I see someone double-dipping.
But that’s a whole different story.