Twenty years. I have brought my green bean casserole to every potluck, every fellowship dinner, every funeral reception, and every Wednesday night supper at Faith Community Church for twenty consecutive years. That is roughly 480 casseroles. Not one person has asked me for the recipe. Not one.

They eat it. Let me be clear about that. The dish comes back empty every single time. I have watched Gerald Fenton go back for thirds. I have seen the pastor’s wife scrape the edges with a serving spoon. They consume it with enthusiasm and then they walk right past me and ask Brenda Holloway how she makes her seven-layer dip. Brenda uses store-bought bean dip. I know because I’ve seen the cans in her recycling.

“I added smoked paprika in 2014. I added a gruyère crust in 2019. I switched to fresh green beans in 2021. The dish has evolved. The recognition has not.”

I am not bitter. I am observant. There is a difference, and the difference is that bitter people stop bringing casseroles. I have not stopped. I will not stop. The casserole is not about me. It is about service. But it would be nice — just once — to hear someone say, “Doris, what’s your secret?”

My husband, Earl, says I should just offer the recipe unprompted. Earl has been married to me for thirty-one years and still does not understand how this works. You do not offer the recipe. The recipe is requested. That is the covenant.

I have considered switching dishes. I have considered bringing nothing. I have considered taping the recipe to the bottom of the dish like a message in a bottle. But that feels desperate, and I am not desperate. I am patient. Patience is a fruit of the Spirit, and so, I have decided, is smoked paprika.

At press time, Brenda’s seven-layer dip had received four compliments, and I had received a text from the church secretary asking if I could “bring that green thing again.”