Nothing ruins my determination to cut back, to not eat so much as a wonderful church-wide basket supper.
Smiling women, in trim suits, tight fitting bodices and stretch slacks haul in their bounty of casseroles smothered in creamed mushrooms and Colby cheese. Glass cake pans show off the fat-calorie-laden seven-layer salad. Green beans cooked in fat back and candied carrots innocently beckon. Even the garden salads area accompanied with tacos, ground beef and avocado dressing.
But my personal favorite are those oversized crispy biscuits side by side with mounds of freshly baked rolls and plain and Mexican corn bread.
In a class by themselves are the dessert tables with all sweets that I never make: Italian cream cake, a huge bowl of rich pudding with fruit and whipped cream plus the wonderful pecan, apple, coconut cream pies. I enjoy everything about pot luck meals, except for the 2 a.m. heartburn that follows.
So we literally were running late that time. Too many after-school activities and last-minute cooking chores to do had delayed us. By the time we arrived, the serving line had already begun. I slipped my casserole in among the rest, left my favorite cookies off at the dessert table and went to the back of the long line to wait.
By the time we finally reached the serving tables, all the dishes I wanted to taste were gone or had lost their appeal. I filled up half my plate and had no heartburn afterward.
After that I aimed to be the last person in line. As I wait for the line to dwindle down, I wander around the room chatting with friends catching up on our lives. Everything about my plan worked fine until I discovered that while the massive hordes were attacking the main course, the tables of sweets were deserted, isolated and neglected.
No one had touched that table full of delectable delights. I was standing alone, contemplating the rich gooey chocolate, the flaky crusts on the apple pie and the sinfully rich pudding of fruit, whipped cream and cake when an older man came up. “My grandma said she always ate her dessert first because she enjoyed it most,” he said and proceeded to help himself.
I don’t argue with my elders. I grabbed a plate and began helping myself to cake, pie and pudding. With freshly brewed coffee it was marvelous, simply marvelous. I would have gone back for seconds, but I thought that would be impolite to take seconds before everyone else (except that man) had had firsts – so I tried another set of desserts.
Eventually the crowd around the casseroles meats, vegetables and breads dwindled out and I went over. As always after the crowed had passed over the table, I had no interest in most of the food, not even the dieter’s delight of a garden green salad or broiled chicken, so I took only a few items to taste.
But for some reason the scales registered another shockingly high number the next morning.