I recently discovered an exotic food that has really excited my palate. It is an explosion of flavors that are mixed together to create something absolutely mouthwatering. Fresh sushi? Nope. Kobe beef? Wrong. This is something even more unusual. It is called a casserole.
Sure, lots of people have had casseroles. I just wasn’t one of those people. I was a late bloomer when it came to the delicacy of casseroles. My mom didn’t make casseroles, and my wife didn’t make casseroles. And since I don’t know how to cook for myself, by process of elimination, I hadn’t had a casserole. Not only do I not know how to cook for myself, I actually don’t even know how to feed myself. If I’m abandoned during the zombie apocalypse while sheltered in a fully stocked grocery store, I will starve to death.
My friends say this whole “I’ve never had a casserole” thing is impossible. We were born in the 1970s, of which I am told was the heyday of the casserole. My friends said they were drowning in casseroles during every Sunday potluck after church. In fact, they ate so many that they hate casseroles today. But I didn’t grow up in a religious household surrounded by the Lord and casseroles. When I was a kid, my family was racing cars every Sunday and didn’t have time to go to church. My folks believed in horsepower, as opposed to the higher power.
Regardless of my family’s heathenish ways, I finally had a casserole and I loved it! It was culinary genius, filled with simplicity and wonderfulness, just a beautiful mix of cheesy, bready, meaty, potatoey layered creation of awesome sauce. I had one at a work pre-Thanksgiving potluck, and I immediately came home and asked my wife to make one for dinner.
“Honey, I want a casserole for dinner tonight.”
“OK, I’ll have to swing by the store. What kind?”
“There are different kinds?”
“Yes, Dummy, there are thousands.”
“Wow. Who knew there was so much out there to taste? I want the one with the bread, the cheese, the chunks of flavor. You know, the good stuff.”
My wife came home and baked up a masterpiece. It was fantastic. Now I ask my wife to make one for dinner every single night. Unfortunately, she doesn’t always honor my requests. She rambled some excuse or something about calories and my body mass index. Some nights instead of casserole, I get salad. A salad ain’t no casserole.
When it was time for actual Thanksgiving day, I was able to convince her to make a casserole to take to my in-laws’ house. If I was going to spend Thanksgiving listening to my father-in-law show me his marble collection, the least she could do is make me a casserole. She agreed and cooked up a beauty. I could smell the yummy casserole aromas wafting through the house all morning. I couldn’t wait.
We were packing up the car with food and drinks and, of course, my casserole, nicely covered in foil. While I was getting everything together, my daughter asked if we could bring our dog with us.
“Dad, let’s not leave our doggy home alone for Thanksgiving.”
Feeling warm and a bit fortunate with my family around me on a holiday, I said, “Sure, we’ll all head up to Grandma and Grandpa’s together. The whole tribe can come this year!”
Our dog, who suddenly learned how to understand English, immediately ran out from the house, leaped up into the car and stuck one of her feet through the foil and directly into my special Thanksgiving casserole. Nobody wanted the casserole after a dog’s foot had been in it.
I didn’t care. More for me! I just cut two inches around the paw print and enjoyed the entire casserole myself.
Rob wants to join the casserole of the month club. To read more from Rob Krider or contact him, visit robkrider.com.
