Growing up, local cuisine was often synonymous with potluck dinners: scalloped potatoes, Sloppy Joes, deviled eggs, some sort of meatball, some concoction of cool whip and fruit, Jell-O molds, underdeveloped lasagna, macaroni salad and other salads that never featured lettuce (but often featured mayonnaise), taco dip, three types of mashed potatoes, casseroles, fried chicken, little smokies, tater tots, and more dips and desserts than should ever be consumed (My mom, being the fabulous cook that she is, tended to make these types of dishes with a twist, often meaning they were the first dish gone on the buffet).

For all of the amazing food available in Chicago, "potluck cuisine" is hard to come by. So when, under completely crappy circumstances, we found ourselves in small-town Illinois this week and someone mentioned that there would be a potluck reception hosted by the ladies of the Methodist church, I was filled with joy and anticipation. It's my comfort food. It feeds my soul.

Sometimes I miss small towns. The town we were in was considerably smaller than the one I grew up in, but they had more in common than Burlington does with Chicago. I miss diners that serve pork tenderloin sandwiches (if anyone can tell me where to get a breaded pork tenderloin sandwich in Chicago, we'll go on me), more free time than you know what to do with, Target trips that take fifteen minutes, gravel roads under skies loaded with stars, playing Euchre under said stars, and celebrations where hodgepodges of people gather together and end up sitting in a circle laughing and enjoying their potluck cuisine.

I suppose all I want to say is that we should gather more often, hopefully under better circumstances. I count this week as a nice memory, one I'll cherish for some time to come. For those of you who were there, I enjoyed talking and laughing and crying with you. I hope we can do it again soon. If someone lends me a crockpot, I'll bring the Sloppy Joes.

photo - newyork808

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