1 hour ago, SLB said:Best.Meal.Ever.
I once had a government job in Mississippi in which I was miserable although I didn't exactly recognize that this is what I was feeling. It had a cafeteria in the basement which served chicken 'n dressing every Thursday, by these old ladies (cue old Mississippi, cooks, central casting . . .). Their dressing was flavored mostly with chicken jus, no sausage.
Y'all. After about two weeks those ladies recognized just how much food I could put away, and just how critical their food was to my coming back to work every day. They were not particularly friendly or even chatty -- but they would pile so much extra dressing for me into that styrofoam, it barely held. I responded with strict and humble devotion. Seriously, the only time I ever left the building for lunch was on the day when this other cafe was serving their nominally superior blackberry cobbler, which me and my boss tried to eat every single week. It was a year-long gig, and that year featured excellent dinner-style lunch.
Anyway. Patti, baby, you are burnin' down there. That's what my old folks used to call this kind of spread: burnin'. Re the bolding -- girl. At this point, none of your fridge's patrons is even bothering to look at the label, once they recognize the packaging . . . .
Meanwhile, I have some leftover roast chicken and I'd plumb forgotten about chicken salad, so guess what is happening in this kitchen this afternoon . . .
And finally, you've inspired me -- I serve at a soup kitchen pretty regularly, but 2026 may be the year I try to get moved onto the prep side.
I am humbled if I have inspired you in any way. I’ll just sit here quietly and bask in the glow (while also smiling/laughing at the lunch ladies showing you their appreciation of YOUR appreciation by piling on the love, er, I mean, food.
While my husband was unloading the food at the fridge this past week, a young man (30s, I’m guessing) gratefully took a bag with two meals in it, and started in on one of the plates immediately (forks are included). With a very pronounced southern drawl he told me that for two weeks he’d been trying to get there when we dropped off meals and he was happy he finally made it (he came by bicycle). He complimented the food several times, telling us how hungry he was and that we’d done a good job. I told him his accent let me know that cornbread dressing was right up his alley! Oddly, he seemed suspicious that I thought he had an accent. 😆
