On Sunday I experienced my first case of Potluck Anxiety, and boy did it suck.

according to the sisterclub potluck anxiety aflicts people who bring a dish to a potluck and then worry about whether or not anyone will eat and/or enjoy their offering. generally, i do not suffer from this disorder. why? because i don’t care if anyone likes my stuff. usually i just make sure to bring something i know that i will like and if nobody else does — fine! more leftovers for me.

but sunday was different. see, in my family my parents both have these specialties they make. for my dad it’s chipped beef on toast. it’s a family favorite. we all love it and for my entire life nobody has ever made it, except for my dad. we’re a little worried about what’s gonna happen when he dies.

my mom’s specialty has always been au gratin potatoes. her potatoes are famous amongst the relatives. and, have been an immediate family favorite for years. however, i must admit, that my mom has gotten lazy over the past couple of years and what used to be delicious cheesy potatoes became nothing more than cheez whiz (seriously, she would use cheez whiz) covered bits of ickiness.

about a month ago, i decide to make myself some au gratin potatoes. because i am a Minnesotan, i am required by law to include a cream of something soup in anything that goes into my oven inside a casserole dish. so i made some shit up, adding buckets of cheese and a couple cloves of garlic to a can of cream of something soup. i glopped the entire mess onto some potatoes, add another bucket of shredded cheese to the top, and baked until browned. the potatoes were so damn good, i made sister #4 try them. she announced that they were better than mom’s. which was, really, like heresy or something.

better? unpossible!

somehow the story of my backstabbing potatoes got around the fam, and mom suggested that i should bring the potatoes for Easter Dinner. she wanted to try them. i was immediately nervous. the au gratin potatoes are the staple of our Easter Dinner. it’s what we all look forward to, mmm, cheesy potatoes.

Easter morning i was up bright and early to prepare the potatoes. as they heated in the oven, i told sister #4 of my nervousness.

“you should be nervous,” she said. “they’ll kick your ass if they’re bad.” that sister of mine, always a pillar of support.

as we sat down for Easter dinner, i glanced around the room noticing that all 12 plates were piled with steaming potatoes. my stomach started to hurt a bit.

“jodi has potluck anxiety,” sister #4 announced before a fork was lifted.
“why?” sister #2 asked.
“what if the potatoes are bad?” i said.
“if they’re bad, you will ruin Easter,” sister #3 said.
“i know!” i wailed.
“don’t be nervous,” sister #3 said. “it’ll be okay.”
“but what if mom hates them?” i asked.
“mom?” she asked.
“would you want to make chipped beef for dad?”
sisters #3 and #4 dropped their forks. “oh god no,” they said.
“see?” i said.
“i’m hoping ericka (sister #2) will figure out how to make it before he dies,” sister #3 said.

“jods,” my mom interrupted. “these potatoes are good. they have a lot of flavor.”

i nearly wept. but then the critiques from the whores started in.
“i think mom’s are cheesier,” sister #3 said.
“they’d be cheesier if you cut the potatoes a little smaller,” mom said.
“but i like big chunky potatoes,” sister #2 said.
“you can’t have both,” mom said.
“i know,” sister #3 said. “you should take a syringe and inject cheese into the middle of the potato. that’d be so good.”
“that would be impossible,” i said.
“it would not.”

at that point, sister #2 said she should probably do her master’s thesis on potluck anxiety and how to treat it. i though it was a brilliant idea.