Vermicelli

This summer when Leslie (Holladay Patterson) and Ottis Patterson came to visit us in Minnesota, we got to talking about foods from our youth. Watermelon and mountain oysters were there, of course. Corn on the cob straight out of the field, gooseberry jelly, strawberry rhubarb pie, and cucumbers washed in irrigation ditches made the list. Any West Texas town could (and probably does) boast of these wonders, but others do not have the Givens’ Vermicelli.

I never knew, but I assume that all the other churches had covered dish dinners once a month. We called them Family Night Suppers in the Methodist Church. In Minnesota they call it “hot dish.” Some families had their signature dishes, while others trusted the creative suggestions of sales at the Piggly Wiggly or leftovers hiding in corners of the fridge.

Delmer Givens (though Ottis says he wasn’t the first) would show up every month with a good-sized casserole of his hamburger vermicelli. It was the most delicious food I could imagine. Rich and crunchy and heavy and thick, it brought with it the excitement of a dish my mother never made and the security of a never- varied recipe.

When I married in 1977 I received a recipe for the dish. It came as part of my most treasured wedding gifts—a recipe box stuffed with cards that carry the foods, names, and handwriting of the community of my memory. I tried to make the vermicelli dish once when I was living in Oklahoma and feeling homesick for the community of the Fellowship Hall. It was terrible. Somehow the magic was left out of the recipe, or my adult tastebuds had outgrown the delight. I despaired of ever again experiencing that sight, smell, and taste that marked a truly successful covered dish supper.

Today I stand corrected. During their visit, Ottis made a batch of vermicelli. It was wonderful. We stretched the leftovers out to travel with us to our mini-vacation/family reunion up at the Burntside Lodge. I don’t know whether Ottis brought the magic or the recipe, but his vermicelli carried me back to the fellowship hall. I was even tempted to break into a chorus of Bringing in the Sheaves. I think my sisters and many old friends would have joined in.