Our church announced the annual potluck dinner three weeks in advance, which gave everyone plenty of time to promise they would bring their “famous dish.” By Sunday evening the fellowship hall smelled like twenty different kitchens at once. Folding tables lined the room, each one slowly filling with casseroles, salads, pies, and things that looked like they had been invented only minutes before arriving.

Brother Jenkins brought his famous baked beans, which he claimed had won three county fairs and one family argument. Sister McCall proudly set down a giant bowl of potato salad that looked capable of feeding an entire scout troop. Meanwhile, someone quietly placed a mysterious casserole in the middle of the table and slipped away before anyone could ask questions.