On Potlucks

Aaahh, the perfect medley, the sublime coalition, the peerless improvisation, the feasible feast: the humble potluck.

Surely one of the oldest of social phenomena, the casual "bring some and join us" dinner resolves many of the delicate challenges presenting themselves to the intrepid hosts calling a mix of people into their home.

Of course many people are fed with less effort and expense than a formal dinner party, but the more tantalizing reason to designate an occasion as a potluck is the invitation to chance.

Some of the finest, most serendipitous dinner blends have been the result of simply, "Come! Bring something!"

In come the fresh trout croquettes, the beautiful braided loaves, radiant kiwi pie, gunny sacks of corn, Venezuelan mouth-burning-dish, raitas, lima bean salads, little lemon curd cookies, pepper jellies, fatoush.

Upon this base of happy chaos the more structured potluck is built. Greek, Indian, barbecue, brunch, hors d'oeuvres, desserts-only motifs offer a focus for the efforts of participating cooks. A centerpiece main course, the promise of dessert flambe: or musical interludes by the children may inspire interesting contributions from the fainthearted guest.

To arrive at the threshold of the gathering, worthy victuals in hand, provides anyone, even the reticent, an automatic, comfortable, conversational opening, one that begins easily the weaving of food and dialogue that is the joy of feasting.

As for eating at potlucks, I have seen a number of strategies.

There is the groaning plate approach whereby the promptings of a gluttonous heart are indulged and the dinner plate is a leaning sculptural hodgepodge of all courses piled to intimidating heights. Sit near these people and hear their wordless moans for they love to eat roundly and are equal to the occasion.

Others prioritize. At a large potluck, they may begin with a plate full of salads only, thus giving them both a proper digestive bedrock for the entrees, as well as an excuse to go around the table again without the raven's stigma.

Some eat very little at potlucks. The array of food overwhelms some subtle region of the psyche. They may go home still pleasantly hungry, having tasted only a few of the most exotic offerings, served in tiny intense dishes intended as a garnish or spread rather than an evening meal.

I admit to a time when I was fond of baking, for potlucks, an especially esoteric molasses cookie--so potent and pure it tasted faintly on one's breath like iron ore. I was assured of little black leftovers, to be sure, but I was definitely cheating.

I have reformed. Now I like to bring something dazzling or daring. From a vast array of possibilities, I would offer you, for some future potluck fare, Grasshopper Pie, one of my mother's best ideas. get this from On Recipes or whatever, previously.

Eat a lot of this. It will make you rich and strong.