Potlucks are a widely polarizing topic. Some people love them, some people hate them. But almost everyone has been to one, and there’s always that one person who brought something bad, weird, or didn’t bring anything at all. We’ve collected a veritable cornucopia of ridiculous items that people brought to potlucks for your enjoyment.
“A year ago, there was a publicized cooking competition held around my neighborhood, in which each person from a household was tasked with cooking a unique dish of their own choosing. There would be a medium-sized potluck dinner-kind-of-feast for scrutiny and tasting for the judges, with the cook of the best dish receiving a cash prize of around $200. Each participant was allotted eight days to prepare their chosen dish and present it at the dinner.
At the time, I was facing a bit of a financial crisis in that I only had a meager five cents in my piggy bank that, to say the least, was far from acceptable for someone who always has her eyes set on stuff to buy.
The competition was an opportunity for me to secure an adequate amount of cash for my needs fairly quickly and easily, so I got on with making a truly novel, never-seen-before dish that I was sure would leave the judges thunderstruck with its impeccable blend of such exotic and tasteful ingredients as to make it seem like something from heaven.
To my shock however, during the course of my preparation of the dish, I found out that a friend of mine, who had also decided to join the competition, was making the exact same dish that I was making—the only difference being her tweaking its appearance to a small extent so that it didn’t look like a direct plagiarism of my dish—but that’s exactly what it was.
So I reached out to her and implored her—not confronted her or fought her over it or anything like that—but politely implored her that she please make another dish. Sadly, she didn’t take too kindly to my request. In fact she cursed me out.
But I pressed on. After hours and hours of persistent pleadings, she accepted to stop copying my dish and to work on an original one. But oh Lord, if I knew what her new ‘dish’ was going to be, I would’ve let her copy my dish without saying a word.
The eighth day passed, and with it the time of preparation. And my dish was more than ready. I brought it to the potluck dinner to see a crowd of people already there with rows of sizzling dishes placed on the tables. I stepped forward and put mine there.
And then came my friend a while later, carrying a ponderous bag and eyeing me with a mischievous smile. I thought nothing of it but then she opened the bag and what was inside caused a deafening commotion—and that isn’t an understatement.
She reached into the bag and took out pieces of what looked to be a dog, and sure enough it was—little chops of what was once perhaps a puppy she placed on the table, as if they were meant to be eaten. Its roasted head, legs, tail, body, brain; all there, in front of dozens of appalled eyes.
And upon closer inspection, I saw it wasn’t just some dog—it was actually my pet. Of sorts. It used to come to my house occasionally for small pieces of meat that I had a penchant for giving it. What she did was murder!
The dinner had to be shut down that night and postponed because everyone present lost their minds over what she brought. Needless to say, she was permanently banned from attending future potluck dinners around the neighborhood, and I cut all ties with that monster.
The dog’s remains, because I knew it more than anyone, were entrusted to me and I later buried them in a secluded place.”
“A couple of years ago, my then place of employment started compiling a list of what people would bring for their annual Thanksgiving potluck. Now I was fairly new to the department and was unfamiliar with their tradition. I offered to bring fried turkey chunks, because it’s a common way that turkey is cooked in the Caribbean. However, I was strongly advised against it and told that the boss always liked to bring the main dish each year. So I bought a baked macaroni and cheese casserole instead. Apparently this was a pretty well-known limitation because virtually no one else brought meat or anything that could be mistaken for the main dish. Well when the boss stated that they were going to run out and pick up the turkey from the grocery store, I wondered how I could not know that baking services were available at this particular grocery chain. Well when the boss returned I found out.
It was a ‘fully cooked’ but cold turkey. Now mind you it’s a work place so no ovens were available, only a microwave which this would not fit in. When opened, it looked slimy like it came from out of a can if that were possible, and with no way to heat it. I didn’t touch it, nor did 99% of the staff who retreated to eating a vegetarian meal that day. One brave soul did try it later in the evening. He said he grew desperately hungry in the middle of the night.”
“That would have been me.
I was invited to a party by a new friend, and it was really last minute. I flew to the cupboard to grab something for the potluck, and the quickest thing was a marbled brownie mix. I am mostly vegetarian, and it’s difficult to find pre-packaged food that is vegetarian unless it’s a single-serve item. With no time to boil grains or soak beans, I pulled the mix out and heated up the oven.
It required butter or oil. Well, I don’t have butter, and I don’t have plain vegetable oil. All I have is olive oil. Well, oil’s oil, I thought, and poured out the required amount into a measuring cup.
I brought the brownies to the party and placed them on the dessert table. Well, the table is being emptied, but despite the appealing yellow and brown marbled brownies, only one brownie is missing. No one is touching the brownies!
Well, I’m embarrassed. I feel like everyone at the party knows I brought the brownies and it looks bad that the pile is not going down. So I decided to eat one to inspire others to do the same.
I bit into it.
It was vile.
It tasted like motor oil. Well, I’ve never had motor oil, but if I had, this would have been a good approximation. I had to find a corner and spit it out.
As the party went on, I would randomly go over, pick up a brownie, and toss it in the trash.
Apparently olive oil is not a good choice for brownies.”
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