Old School: Super Suppers

By Carol McEwen,

Those of you who grew up in church know where this is headed. Yep, it’s about those fabulous events called Church Suppers, feeding the multitudes, with a lot tastier food than Jesus’ loaves and fishes.

There were two varieties: a pot-luck and a one-entrée type. While I’ve been to both, I’ll focus on the one-entrée variety, put on by the North Methodist Church of Vincennes, Indiana, during the 1940’s and ‘50’s. Besides my fond memories, I know they happened, based on my mother’s recipe file entry shown below. I also found recipes for Chili for 75 folks and Chicken and Noodles for 150. 

All that food took serious planning and shopping. I don’t know how the ingredients arrived at the church, which suggests my mother wasn’t involved in that phase. Otherwise I would surely have been dragged to some grocery store while she shopped. But I certainly remember the preparation — my favorite part.

Mother and I would arrive at the church basement kitchen in the morning, along with an army of other church women, ready to do battle. They rolled up their sleeves and began work, peeling onions, slicing carrots, making noodles, or browning hamburger, in pots as big around as hub caps. I remember seeing my mom’s friend Mrs. Martin, with tears streaming down her face. I grew worried until the women laughed and explained it was the onion-chopping. That’s how I learned what onions could do to tear ducts.

Meanwhile, my pal, Linda, and I would play our brains out since we had the whole church to ourselves. It was a treat to play with her, since she lived across town and we only saw each other there. The building held plenty of nooks and crannies to explore and places to hide from our nemesis and younger pest, Stevie. We’d sneak behind the stage curtains and practice opening and closing them, or crawl under tables. We liked checking out the photos of past ministers and wondering what they were like and we’d stop in to visit with the church secretary. But we never EVER played in the sanctuary. Even as six-year-olds we had a sense of respect for the place.  

As the dinner hour approached and the women finished up the meal, others would set up a table to sell tickets, since this was a major fundraiser for the church. The meal cost $2.50, which sounded like a fortune to me.

Those church suppers marked important events, too. It was at one of those suppers on December 7, 1941, that the word spread: Japan had bombed Pearl Harbor. Mother said many of the land-locked Midwesterners were scratching their heads, asking, “Where is Pearl Harbor?” Some rushed home to listen to the radio, while others stayed to finish their food. I’m sure those practical types thought, “No sense wasting good food.”

Another church supper was the site of a family catastrophe. I’ll title it “The Night of the Missing Diamond.” As usual, my mother worked in the kitchen all that day, but suddenly, near suppertime, she discovered the diamond gone from her engagement ring. After she had thoroughly searched her apron, her dress and every other part of her body, she and her friends attacked the kitchen, sweeping, going through the trash and looking under every piece of equipment, even rolling out the massive refrigerator. During the supper, someone made an announcement, asking people to chew their chicken and noodles carefully, in search of the diamond.

Final verdict: the gem was swallowed either by a hungry diner or the drain. Tears and years later, my dad replaced it for Mother’s Christmas gift one year, but she was devastated to learn that her frugal husband had given her a Zircon. Not a high point in their marriage or church suppers. 

Carol McEwen is a writer for Stroll By The Bay, Mirimar Beach, Florida, and authored the weekly Old School column for the Arlington Sun Gazette/Gazette Leader. She may be reached at: carolwrites4fun@gmail.com.