Potlucks always throw me into a tizzy. What to make? What to make? What to make whattomakeWHATTOMAKE?!?

I get a headache from worrying and stressing and then my husband gets a headache by default (thanks to all my kvetching) and then I invariably forget (or neglect) to work ahead and by the time Sunday morning rolls around I’m frantically running around the kitchen trying to throw something together while still doing the regular Sunday morning prep and—well, it’s quite the drama.

So at the last church potluck, I tossed creativity to the wind and made our regular Sunday lunch: waffles. That meant I carted all the waffle stuff—irons, ladle, spatula, batter, syrup, fruit, whipped cream, etc—to the park and set up shop on one of the picnic tables.

At first people didn’t have a clue what I was doing. I got lots of blank-confused-bewildered looks, but then they started catching on and by the end people seemed pretty jolly about the whole thing. I think they thought I was being inventive and going all out or something, which was totally wrong. I was just doing the lazy, old hat thing. Waffles are programmed into my Sunday personage. Waffles I can do.

But not all potlucks come with an outlet and space for last minute cooking. ‘Tis a shame, I know.

The last potluck I was at was the first meal of church retreat—Friday evening supper. It was much more doable than a Sunday potluck because:

1) I’m normally planning an evening meal so an evening potluck fit into my day easy-peasy.
2) There was no church and Sunday school separating the cook time from the eat time. That wait time always throws me something fierce.

(For the detail hungry among you: I made two dishes. The first was a pan of leftover baked potatoes, chopped up and fried with some bacon and then topped with pepper-jack cheese and baked till melty. The second dish was a casserole dish of pasta with ground sausage, feta, and roasted tomato sauce topped with a layer of blackened zucchini rounds and then mozzarella cheese. I was using up leftovers—can you tell?)

Now I’ll be the first to admit (actually, my husband is usually the first—he’s such a dear) that I have a bad habit of doing complicated things at potluck time. Like tostados (frying the tortillas at home, and then, at site, topping them with refried beans, salsa, cheese, and a squirt of sour cream from the corner of a cut plastic bag), or waffles (see above), or beignets (talk about a crazy Sunday morning!). If I’m not going complicated, I go simple-boring: applesauce, brownies, and a bag of chips. I need to find middle ground.

So clearly, it’s high-time I made a list of potluckable foods. Foods that can be made ahead of time. Simple foods. Yummy foods (who wants to bring home leftovers after all those people have hovered/touched/salivated over it, huh?). Nutritious foods. Foods that can sit and be none the worse for wear. Foods that don’t take much brain energy to prep and transport.

I’m dividing my list, not by food category, but by the temperature at which the foods need to be served and/or the appliances needed for serving. You know, like an outlet or a stove or a refrigerator.

But before I get to the food, one word about tools. When indulging in the potlucking lifestyle, good tools are a big help. Though that’s kind of a silly thing to say because I don’t have much of what I consider necessary and I still potluck, so whatever. But if I were to make a list of important tools, this is what it would include:

*a trusty crockpot
*an insulated carrier, with hot and cold packs (the zipper’s busted on mine so I don’t use it as often as I might)
*stainless steel trays (potluckers everywhere, be envious!)
*a pie carrier (I’d be more inclined to bring pies if I had one) (hint, hint, darling husband-o-mine)
*a basket that fits a 9×13 pan (want!)
*matching stainless steel cups (again, want!)
*a big basket for hauling all the pans, trays, and cups (though a wash basket will work in a pinch)

(Hm, that was more a wish list than anything. Proof I am a not a potlucking expert.)

Now, for the food!

Room temp (stuff that can sit out for several hours and be okay):
I mention specific cakes, pies, etc, when, in fact, many kinds will do, because I am less stressed when I have details to jumpstart me.

oatmeal muffins
scones (too many to link to)
bread, with butter and jelly
ants on a log
pepperoni rolls
spicy Indian potatoes
peanut noodles
spinach-cheese crepes
pumpkin cake
rhubarb cake
caramel popcorn
marshmallows
elf biscuits
earthquake cake
shoofly cake
apple pie
sour cherry crumb pie

Chilled, via cooler or refrigerator:

deviled eggs
mustard eggs
applesauce
hummus and pita chips/crackers
chips and salsa
fruit salad (though if the fruits are frozen, they can sit out for several hours, thus landing this salad squarely in the room temp category)
veggie tray
pesto dip and crackers
potato salad
cabbage slaw
fresh tomato salad
Greek pasta salad
zucchini pasta salad
rhubarb cream pie
pudding

Oven-hot (dishes that can be prepared at home and then baked on location):
Of course, many of these dishes can be baked at home and then rewarmed just prior to eating, or kept hot in an insulated carrier.

baked hash brown potatoes
breakfast enchiladas
egg-and-ham casserole
baked French toast
waffles! (irons and outlets required)
cottage potatoes
quiche
macaroni and cheese
baked spaghetti
sweet and sour lentils
tortilla pie
lasagna (I can’t believe I haven’t shared my recipe with you yet!)
baked lentils with cheese
Indian chicken and rice
baked corn
beef empanadas
enchiladas

Crockpot-hot (foods to be prepared at home, then transported and kept warm in the crockpot):
Quite a few of the dishes in the oven-hot category can be adapted to fit into this category.

potatoes in cream with Gruyere
baked beans
braised cabbage
Indian-style corn
potatoes and onions
fatira
golden chicken curry
barley and beans with sausage and red wine

That’s my list! If you have suggestions/ideas, feel free to shout them out in the comments (don’t forget to include links). I’ll edit and change this list as needed, and there will be a link for this post on the sidebar. I expect it will get lots of hits on Saturday nights, right around 9 o’clock.

Happy potlucking!

This same time, years previous: cornmeal whole wheat waffles, hard knocks, Greek pasta salad

The seasons are changing. The evidence is as follows:

*A bottle of goldenrod sitting pretty on my table.
*A pink scarf in the making for a certain little girl.
*A bowl of motley green and red peppers, still muddy from their latest rain lashing.
*Wood chips littering the hearth. Hello, cozy fires. We’ve missed you!
*Blazing sunsets.

And so passes another summer. It was nice while it lasted.

I was planning to do a post on potluck meals today. I was even taking notes with pen and paper. But then I ate some of the cookies—three, to be exact—that just came out of the oven, and suddenly potluck meals were no longer relevant.

So let’s talk cookies, shall we?

This morning my youngest woke up with cookies on the brain. As soon as I walked in the door after my morning run, the little lad started peppering me with questions. I couldn’t quite understand what he was saying at first—probably because my brain was still trying to catch up from the whiplash I’d just inflicted upon it: cozy dreaming to jolting pavement pounding to little voice yammering up at me—just too many transitions, and without coffee, too.

But I got my shower and made my brew and then I started to comprehend. He was saying things like: “Where’s that book that had how to make that cake you made?” And, “The one of the cake that we burned? That was in the fridge?”

Me, slowly catching on, “Oh, the chocolate cake?”

“Yeah, where’s the book that tells how to make it?”

“You want the recipe?” (This was weird.) “It’s in the latest Bon Appétit magazine. Here.” And I dug it out of the pile on the end table.

He settled down on the sofa and commenced a-flipping through the pages, mumbling, “There’s something I’m looking for… ” Then, triumphantly, “This, Mama! I want to make these cookies. Can we make these today? Can we make them, Mama? Can we?”

His finger jabbed at a picture of jam-filled cookies.

“Actually, I was wanting to try that recipe, so yes, we’ll make them. But later.”

“We’ll have to go pick the raspberries,” he announced excitedly. “There’s raspberries on top, see?”

A couple minutes later he started up again. “Can we make the cookies now, Mama?”

By then I was deeply immersed in the internets but I surfaced long enough to mutter, “Shush. Not now.”

“I can start mixing them up myself.” His voice began to shrill with frustrated impatience. “Can I? Can I? Can I? Can I? Can I?”

“I said later, hon,” I snapped. “Later!”

“I’m going to call the police ‘cause you’re not making the cookies!” he announced.

And so it went, all morning long.

The kid was on a mission. He was merciless. He was obsessed. He was rabid with cookie lust. He trailed me with that magazine, flapping it in my face every time I turned around. It was unreal and completely ridiculous. (At one point he yelled up the stairs to me where I was straightening a bedroom, “Can we have Thanksgiving?” Boy oh boy, the kid was focused!)

Finally, right before lunch, I decided it was time to zip his pesky yapper and make good on my word. Out came the whole wheat flour, baking powder, sugar, butter, and eggs and I whipped them babies up. I plopped grape jelly into half the cookie bellies while The Cookie Hound Extraordinaire spooned apricot into the other.

While the cookies baked, the children devoured a pot of peas and nearly an entire pan of mac and cheese, and then, then, they each got to pick one still-warm cookie off the tray, and—oh glory be! That cookie-obsessed child was silent! His craving sated, the tension vaporized, and I—nay, the very atmosphere—heaved a sigh of relief.

And then I sat down to write about potlucks but ended up feasting on cookies and writing this post instead.

I’m not exactly sure why they call these “shortbread cookies.” In my book, shortbread is dry, crumbly, and super buttery (and delicious). These cookies, on the other hand, have a tender, soft interior with a slight crunch around the edges. The wheat flour gives them a deeper flavor and nubbly, nutty texture that I’m wild about. And then there’s the jam, the lovely fruitiness that jacks up the cookie’s adorable factor and bestows the perfect kiss of sweet. It’s enough to make a person weak in the knees.

So, to sum up. The desperation with which my five-year-old plagued me was justified. If I was in your home right now, I’d stick the magazine picture up against your eyeballs and chant make these, make these, make these until you caved.

Which you would be wise to do.

P.S. My cookie consumption total continued to rise during the writing of this post. The final stats: five.

P.P.S. I had a tomato for supper.

P.P.P.S. Pictures of Beggar Boy taken at an earlier, non-cookie lusting date. But they get the point across, me thinks.

Whole Wheat Jammies
Adapted from the September 2011 issue of Bon Appétit

I used cooked jam in this recipe—I think a freezer jam would be a little inferior. It’s just a feeling I have, but I could be wrong…

2 cups whole wheat flour
½ cup sugar
1 ½ teaspoons baking powder
10 ½ tablespoons salted butter
1 egg
1 egg yolk
3-4 tablespoons jam (red raspberry, cherry, grape, apricot, etc.)

Stir together the flour, sugar and baking powder. Rub in the butter with your fingers. Beat together the egg and extra yolk and stir it into the sandy buttery mixture. Shape the dough into about 24 balls and place the balls on two parchment-lined baking sheets. Make an indentation with your thumb in each ball of dough and spoon in a little jelly, about ½ teaspoon per cookie. Bake the cookies at 375 degrees for 10-12 minutes.

This same time, years previous: coffee fix ice cream, ricotta cheese, and pesto torte