funereal potatoes
Friday, September 11, 2009 at 4:45AM There was a function at church last night. I was asked to bring potatoes. Fine, I thought, I'll bring funeral potatoes. Funeral potatoes, as you may know, is a side dish which contains potatoes and differing amounts of saucy ingredients such as canned soups, cheese, butter, and so on. It got its name, I expect, from being a stock item at the dinners that the ladies at churches everywhere provide for families attending a funeral.
The first time I was called and asked to bring "funeral potatoes" to, of all things, a funeral, I'd never heard of it. I called my sister. Of course she had a recipe, and here it was. Cut up your potatoes thinly and lay them in these half-standing-up rows all along the bottom of your dish. Mix up (I've forgotten what high-calorie concoction involving fats, salts, dairy products, etc.) and pour it over the potatoes. Bake it for half an hour at 350.
So I did exactly what her recipe called for. They smelled lovely as I wrapped the casserole dish in tinfoil and delivered it to the church. I felt very helpful as I placed my little tray of potatoes on the church counter amid a sea of similarly tinfoiled dishes. I didn't know the family attending the funeral, but I went around for a few days with a self-satisfied glow at having been an anonymous pair of helping hands.
Soon there was another funeral, and I was again asked to bring potatoes. No sweat. I had a good recipe. Tinfoil, church counter, glow. I was liking funeral potatoes. Then we moved, and I was asked once again to bring a dish of potatoes to a funeral.
After I'd taken the potatoes to three funerals, a cousin of mine had a potluck dinner and we were invited. "Bring a side dish," she'd said. Well, I had a side dish I knew just how to whip up. By now the routine was old hat, as I sliced up the potatoes and poured on the goo. As they cooked and I got ready to go, I contemplated renaming my potatoes something like "Erin's Famous Funeral Potatoes". I was getting good at this.
We made it to the potluck and I put my potatoes proudly down amid the other side dishes. The sister who'd given me the recipe was in front of me in the food line. "Are these funeral potatoes?" she asked me, snickering at their unfortunate name. "Yes they are," I said proudly, "I've made them a ton since you gave me the recipe."
She took some, finished filling her plate, and turned around to talk to me while she started to eat. I waited for her to take her first bite and declare how wonderful my funeral potatoes were. She bit, and she declared. "You say you've made these a ton?" she said, choking a little. "Yes," I said, alarmed, "aren't they any good?"
Now, I suppose at this point I should mention that although I had taken many dishes of funeral potatoes to many funerals, I'd never actually tasted them. There was no way to taste them. Could you take a dish of potatoes with one bite dug out of the corner over to the church? No way. So I'd been making them, taking them, and giving them away with no idea whatsoever of how they tasted.
My sister put down her fork, took a deep sigh, and said slowly, (trying not to choke on her laughter), "Erin. You have...to...cook...the...potatoes...first." At that point, I took my first bite of Erin's Famous Funeral potatoes and realized that the only way they could be famous is if someone at each of those funerals said to someone else, don't touch those potatoes, they're raw. I imagined the bereaved family, filing silently around a table laden with dishes from the church ladies, feeling grateful amid their sorrow as they dug spoonfuls of the corn puddings, homegrown tomatoes, fried chicken, and funeral potatoes onto their plates. And then someone would take a bite, and start to laugh. And turn to the person next to him and say, "I've heard about these here funeral potatoes. They're famous." The Raw Funeral Potato Lady has struck again.
I looked up from my plate of wasted time at the sister who'd left the most important step out of the recipe. "You didn't TELL me to cook them first," I said, as calmly as I could. She was still laughing. "Oh, Erin, (gasp...gasp) I thought you KNEW!!"
I haven't made funeral potatoes since that day, and I didn't make them for the function last night. I called up a different sister (I only have four to choose from) and asked her for a recipe. She gave me one I'd already been using, and eating, and feeding my family, for years. Satisfied, I cut up my potatoes and took them up to the church. And yes, this time I did cook them first.
Reader Comments (4)
This was so funny that I've come back to read it again 3 times. I can't stop laughing long enough to type this comment. Good thing you didn't call me. Here's my recipe: get Adam and have him make some funeral potatoes!
Hey you, I always love your post. But I have to say, I am relishing your "worms" on the side, and getting a much needed dose of laughter medicine...thanks!!
Too funny! I would imagine all of us have something like this in our past, but most of us don't even realize it and still go around thinking we're so wonderful. I have enough things I did (that I knew about) that make me blush to remember. I don't even need to think about the ones I was unaware of.
Too funny! I always dread sharing a recipe for fear of sharing it wrong!! We always use frozen cubed hashbrowns for our funeral potatoes!