Hot Dish

Or, as people from places more elegant than the Mid-West call it, "casserole".

Last night was our annual school picnic. We have a couple of pot-luck parties every year, and I often make my mom's Three-Bean Hot Dish. It is easy and yummy: a variation on baked beans steeped in a long tradition of church basement triumph. For Mom, not for me. Invariably, I get busy and distracted, so I do have a tradition, but of a different sort.

Every year:

1. I concoct the hot dish the night before, then bring it to work and put it in the fridge until about 5:00 PM.
   
2. I put it in the oven at 350 degrees.
   


3. A while later, I peek at it and think, "Well, I'd like to to be more bubbly, and I have to leave for the park in a few minutes, to help set up the picnic."


4. I turn it up to 450 degrees.
   


5. I scrutinize our picnic checklist to see that we have done the things we need to do: label the large utensils that belong to the school; make a 5-gallon jug of punch and another of ice water; make sure we have enough BINGO counters; pack two coolers with ice; put up a sign on the door, explaining that we're out of school. I check off certain items that we often forget: a lighter for the grill; the picnic permit; hot dog buns; an extension cord for the CD player.


6. I go to the park and help set up.
   


7. Everyone arrives, including my family.
   


8. About an hour later, Simon says, "Well, Honey, looks like your hot dish was a big success. I wanted some, but it's all gone."
   


9. Gasp.


10. Experience wave of nausea. And deja vu.
    


11. Run for my car and speed back to school, relieved to find that it is not engulfed in flame.
    


12. Unlock the school and savor the aroma of scorched brown sugar.
    


13. Rush to rescue the hot dish.


14. Return to park to discover that my parking spot has been taken.

As it was in the beginning, is now and ever shall be. World without end, Amen.

Later, after the picnic, we were all back at school cleaning up and my co-worker Diane looked first at the dessicated hot dish, then at me. "How many times have you done that, now? Two?" "Three. Look! If you dig down a few layers, it's edible..."