Public suppers, casseroles make for perfect food fit

To everyone who learned how to make egg noodle casseroles in junior high home economics class more than 40 years ago — I have now drawn even with you.

Turkey noodle casserole got me there, last week.

“Casserole” has seemed like the perfect kind of public supper dish, to me through the years.

I have eaten my way through dozens upon dozens of public suppers since moving Downeast more than a dozen years ago. Casseroles have been the most popular and plentiful dishes to pass, by my count.

But, don’t worry; I won’t be putting my casseroles out there for others to try anytime soon. Because I’ve still got a lot to learn about noodle casseroles, if I even care to revisit them.

The first one was fun, but, er, kind of fatty. Must have been the ground turkey that I bought, because I poured off lots of fat, and the recipe didn’t even suggest that. And when I added in the sour cream, I realized that I could have been using a lower-fat sour cream. Too late for that, though.

My casserole tasted like I imagine a box of Hamburger Helper would have made something taste — and I have never had Hamburger Helper at all.

I can’t say that having 12 servings of turkey noodle casserole on hand made me feel great, either. (Because in the end, I ate all 12 servings myself — true story).

casserole

Sure, I made something with 13 ingredients, which happen to be so many more ingredients than I have ever used at once.

But I won’t be returning to this recipe. I just wanted to say that, for once in my life, I am capable of making an egg noodle casserole. Because I have no memories of such a thing, way back in my eighth grade home economics class in Maryland in 1973.

I am sure that’s what we were taught, how to make a casserole. Yet with every other domestic detail we were taught, very little stuck with me. All I remember is that the teacher, Miss Cartegena, was from Puerto Rico.

And as she stood in front of a gaggle of 13-year-old girls, demonstrating ironing, or cooking, or something else I had no interest in, she’d always return to the same phrase: “Now–what–do–we–do–next,-class?”

Fortunately, she had all the answers. Because I simply had no interest.

Thinking back, I cannot imagine that Miss Cartegena gave any of us Cs for grades in Home Economics, because that would have been seriously discouraging for us eighth graders. I probably got Bs. They probably were most undeserved Bs, at that.

Clearly, my disinterest in making easy dishes that everyone likes, such as noodle casseroles, lasted for decades.

Then, in 2001, I moved to Downeast Maine. Here, casseroles dominate the tables at public suppers.

Sheltered life that I have led, I had not encountered public suppers as a food lifestyle, particularly in summer, before coming to this part of Maine.

My first summer passed, in fact, with me reading all the public supper variations in the local weekly papers, including church suppers, benefit suppers, grange suppers and just plain old community suppers for no specific reason.

But I never went, because I just didn’t know. I had arrived Downeast alone, didn’t know anybody, and certainly didn’t know the tradition of paying your $6 at the door for all-you-can-eat, and all you can talk about, too, with those you’re sitting next to.

Then a date suggested that we go to the nearby church supper one Saturday evening. “Really?” I thought, unsure about this man.

After that, once I learned what public suppers were all about — filled with casseroles, salads and pie for dessert — I was enchanted by them.

The date who introduced me to public suppers very soon faded out. But at least I had learned the secret about what people do Downeast on Saturday evenings in summer.

Public suppers of all sorts became standard fare for me and my next date, the man who I would marry 18 months later.

We loved them, and we loved each other. Frank is gone now, but public suppers are still very big in my life. Hardly one passes that I read about, that I don’t end up attending.

And I know that Frank would be proud that, after 10 years of eating casseroles together at public suppers, I finally made one for myself.

Katherine Cassidy

About Katherine Cassidy

Making meals is an everyday occurrence for everyone else, yet this writer has gone years without making much of anything in the kitchen. On the verge of turning 56, she is committing herself to learning to cook at last -- both late in life and in public. Watch her as she ventures beyond boiling an egg,