Why I never invited the minister to dinner

Having the minister or preacher as we called them in those days, to dinner was always a mixed blessing.   Positive because we appreciated his company and negative because one always wondered what to serve and how it would compare to dinners at the other parishioners.  We had recently built a house and felt the time was right to invite our minister to dinner.

My family was no help what so ever with three different suggestions for each course and then a chorus of “whatevers”.  As I contemplated my options I thought of our family dish Preachers Special which had been developed in the 1950’s by my Grandmother Lottie Rogers.  Since Grampy had the habit of inviting the visiting preacher home for a meal after the Sunday morning service; Grammy’s dilemma was what to serve.  This was before the days of convenience food or microwaves. In fact Grammy only had a big wood range and Grampy was notorious for having green wood in the wood box.  Grammy’s Preachers Special was a layered meal cooked in a double boiler to ensure it did not burn.  Cooked ground beef layered with rice, vegetables and a ubiquitous can of soup seemed to please all pallets. 

I decided on a more up tempo Beef Bourguignon, nice chunks of well-seasoned beef with mushrooms and wine. I would serve with little potatoes, a salad, rolls and dessert.  I was good to go.  By the time the beef was in the oven I was ready.  After the meat had cooked for the better part of an hour, I removed it from the oven and ……..dropped it on the floor.

I had not used oven mitts and the hot casserole had burned my hands!  Best part?  The Corningware casserole had shattered into a hundred pieces.  Not broken into two or three but shattered, glass shards were everywhere. I was in shock; I had nothing else to serve. It was the weekend, no stores open.   

I called my Mother to come pick up my children.  Primarily to remove them from the scene and secondly so they could not talk.   I put all the meat in a strainer. I washed, washed and rewashed. I browned more mushrooms and onions, I added wine, I added the washed meat.  I chose another Corning ware Casserole and put it in the oven.  I cleaned the kitchen; the burning dish had lifted pieces from my brand new flooring to say nothing of my poor burned hands.

The minister came, we ate, and I played with my food.  No one was hospitalized with a puncture in their digestive system.  And No one asked me   why I have never, ever invited a minister to dinner.