Potlucks combine the worst of cooking for yourself and the anxiety of Christmas.
You shop, cook, and clean just like every day. All the work is there.
Then you bring your offering to the table and watch to see if it’s the last chosen (just like you were in pick-up baseball games) or if you’re going to bring most of it back home with you. Was it your dish that made everyone suddenly remember their diets and adopt strict portion controls?
Potlucks. There ought to be a law.
Wow. I thought I worried too much about stuff.
I like potlucks because I like the idea of communally-prepared meals. I’m not really bothered if people eat what I bring as long as they accuse me of poisoning them.
That’s an interesting way to look at it!
What gets me about potlucks is people that come VERY VERY late to them and still bother to bring a dish (usually fried chicken picked up on the way over) after everyone else has eaten. I guess it’s still the ‘courtesy’ of bringing something, but why bother.
Or the last several to leave that never bother to offer to help clean up (although there are notable exceptions I could name here).
Over the years, I’ve found some side-dish preps that are always a hit, if brought early enough.
As for me, if there are green chile cheese tortilla wraps or devilled eggs at a potluck, I’ll be hovering and gnoshing there the whole time!
I try to bring something that I like. If I get to bring most of it home for me, it’s their loss, my gain. Still, that “last-picked” feeling is never fun. Especially at a gentleman’s club.