Like any growing 13 year old boy, I spent a lot of time focusing on food. When I was younger than that, eating was not something that was on the top of my daily priority list.
But as I grew older I became more fixated with casseroles, salads and the aromas emitting from crockpots and chafing dishes.
At home, our dinner menus were formatted pretty rigidly. Thursday was spaghetti night, pancakes on Sunday, and hamburgers and hotdogs, or fish sticks on other days.
Then there were the holiday meals at my grandmother’s house where the food was a gift to my tastebuds and almost as good as any present.
Every once in a while we would go out to dinner, or be invited to another family’s house.
But the occasion where I had an opportunity to sample a vast bounty of foods was the annual summer covered dish picnic hosted by the Limekiln Lake Association where there was just too much food to fit on a plate.
My tastebuds were ramped up even further at the August Church of the Lakes covered dish picnics that featured amazing long-roasted barbeque chickens.
I scoped out the offerings of the “church ladies” and kept a close eye on them as they made their entrance with husbands in tow.
I knew who made the best homemade casseroles, baked beans, deviled eggs, spiced small meatballs and desserts. I made mental notes as to their placement on the table so I could return several times.
I would skip breakfast on these days to leave more room for sampling of the best dishes created by these women.
I noticed the men were the ones entrusted with carrying the dishes to the table—proudly displaying them as if they were extoling the virtue of their mate’s cooking prowess.
I wasn’t shy about starting the line as it meant I could quickly return for seconds while folks were still eating. And when I returned for thirds it was less obvious that I was behaving much like a bear that was stocking up for the winter.
As a young teen I remember thinking how nice it would be to attend a covered dish supper at least once a week.
The conversations that fluttered through the room during these meals filled with good food and smiles, were just as much a food for the soul as any of the dishes.
Lingering around a table poking at a bit of chocolate cake—hoping there will still be room for it—while sharing stories about where the fish are biting, who just got married and who recently got buried were wonderful memories of the covered dish experience.
Though there are fewer covered dish suppers these days, they still remain as one of my favorite ways to spend an afternoon or evening.
Along with a favorite dish, it was traditional to also bring your own eating utensils and plate to one of these dinners.
At 13, my culinary specialty was simply a bag of wavey potato chips.
Since then however, I have perfected a few signature specialty items that have elevated to “take notice” status by other appreciators of the covered dish supper.
