Starch

I usually get pretty jazzed about church potlucks. Mostly because I’m a big fan of casserole and pie and crock pots and stretchy nylon tablecloths and metal folding chairs.

I don’t get to attend many of these sorts of events. The last one I went to was more of a potluck-bomb on my part, if that’s possible. I wasn’t invited and no one knew who I was (and I didn’t know who they were) but my roommate said that it would be ok if we went (even though they weren’t expecting her to show up either) and so we did.

And it was good. But it was also strange. Very strange.

I have found when you venture out into the Indiana countryside, things get weird.

In their defense, it wasn’t really a potluck. It was more of a monthly church dinner. But still. I got up to where the food was being served and saw that they were topping huge servings of mashed potatoes with chicken noodles and then placing a hamburger bun on the side.

As in starch on starch with a side of starch.

When I asked for them to hold off on the delicious store-bought hamburger bun and to put my noodles on the side, separate from my potatoes, they looked at me like I was crazy.

Me. The crazy one.

So I’m not really sure what I was expecting when Tad and I attended a potluck yesterday at our church (which also happens to reside in the Indiana countryside). All I remember was looking down the long line of crock pots and seeing that at least four of them held that noodle chicken concoction, while a large platter held a pyramid of hamburger buns.

There weren’t any mashed potatoes, though. I’ll give them that.

*Jokes aside, I had a good time and was able to avoid the chicken noodle stuff. There was this Buffalo Chicken Macaroni and Cheese dish that was to die for.

And I suppose I can’t really complain about the food when I was the one who brought an expired apple pie that I had picked up from the sales rack at Wal-Mart.

Oh yeah, I’m bad.