Comfort Food
"Are you sure they taste all right?" I asked my husband Terry as he
took his third bite of my scalloped potatoes.
As he put the lid on the casserole, he told me once more that they
were just fine. As a new bride, I was having trouble with my husband's
choice of words. Fine can mean so many things. Like fine to eat or fine
if you are not comparing it to my mother's. His vague statement did little
to reassure this new bride if the potatoes were worth eating.
But as my husband honked the car horn, I knew that was my signal that
we must be on our way. So with sweating hands -- not from the heat of the
casserole, but from nerves -- and a racing heart, I was off to our first
potluck dinner. This was our first, not only as husband and wife, but also
at our new church in the city. And, since it was in the city, I thought
scalloped would be better to take than just plain mashed potatoes.
When we got to the basement, I hoped that I could sneak my casserole
in. But no such luck! One elderly man wanted to check out what was in my
pot, as he teasingly told us he only eats food when he knows what it is, as
well as who made it. Then there were the ladies with their laundry baskets
of food. Many of them carrying their beautiful baked goods in the
prettiest baskets I had ever seen. I was so embarrassed that I only
brought the potatoes, as well as a pitcher of lemonade in a recycled milk
jug.
Feeling a little uncomfortable because I didn't bring very much and
not knowing a soul besides my new husband, I joined the back of the line
that had formed quickly after the preacher gave the blessing. I found
myself wondering if we'd ever fit in this city church of 220 members. That
may not seem like many people, but my home congregation had a membership of
20 -- and that was on a good Sunday. I had also been among family.
Homesick and hungry, I waited in line.
As I got closer to the food, I noticed most people were getting food
from one silver pot. Curious, I lifted the silver lid to find navy beans
and memories of home. Surrounding the pan were little bowls of sweet onion
(my mom's favorite), homemade tomato relish (like my Granny made), and
wedges of cornbread (just like my mom had showed me how to make for my
first 4-H project.) But as I glanced down in that big pan, there was only
a small amount of beans left. Did I dare do what I wanted and scrape the
pan clean? Or should I be polite like my mom had raised me and leave the
last bite for someone else?
She must have read my mind, because the owner of the pot smiled at me
and scraped that last bit of beans in my bowl.
"Hi! I'm Ruth. Sure nice of you to come tonight and for helping me
get rid of that last bit of beans. Now I can go wash it!" as she took her
pot to the kitchen.
As I ate that bowl of beans and cornbread with sweet onion and
homemade tomato relish, many of the church's members stopped by and
introduced themselves. But instead of feeling uncomfortable, I was at
ease. Isn't it amazing what our favorite comfort food can do?
As my husband packed the empty casserole dish back in the car, he
smiled at me as he said, "Told you everything would be fine." This time I
knew what fine did mean. Not only had my scalloped potatoes been fine, but
this new church was going to be just fine too. It may be a church in a
city, but it was full of fine people who had down home menus as well as
manners.
Especially a lady named Ruth and her pot of beans.
[ Stephanie Ray Brown (Savvysdad@aol.com) -- from 'Heart Warmers' ]
Inspirational Messages
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