If you grew up Baptist back in the day, you knew that whenever there was a potluck, you were about to have your best worst day ever. By that I mean you were going to completely make yourself sick by eating way too much food. But it was going to be some of the best food ever.
There’s an unwritten rule that states in the event of a Baptist gathering where food is present, a chicken must die. In other words, you knew there will be multiple buckets of fried chicken — some store bought, some homemade. You knew you would see a plethora of casseroles. You also knew there would be nothing involving vegan or kale or anything remotely healthy.
It’s an interesting scientific fact that the smaller the size of the Baptist church, there would be an inverse increase in the amount and quality of potluck food available. Especially if said church had any number of “seasoned” ladies in the congregation. I can tell you that whenever I got invited to a small country church as a part of my college puppet ministry team, there was going to be some mighty good eatin’ later.
I miss those days. I miss the people who made those days so great. But I have good memories of good food and good times that have long outlasted any possible upset stomachs from overeating.