By I went to the mixer. I wore the navy dress and Mama's pearl studs and a cautious smile and I walked into the fellowship hall at New Birth Missionary Baptist Church on a Sunday evening and I was terrified. Not of the people. Of wanting. Of admitting that I want something for myself — not for the kids, not for Curtis, not for the Set the Table girls. For me. Tamika. The woman who has been cooking for everyone else for two years and has just started to remember that she, too, has a plate that deserves to be filled.
The mixer was small — maybe twenty people, more women than men (this is always the ratio; the math of Black church mixers is its own kind of injustice). There was fruit punch, as predicted. There were small sandwiches that someone made with more obligation than love. There was a man standing by the piano, not talking to anyone, holding a cup of punch and looking at the room the way someone looks at a room when they're trying to decide if it's safe to be in it. That look. I recognized that look. It was my look.
His name is Derek Washington. Same last name as Terrell, which: God has a sense of humor. He is an IT project manager. He is recently divorced. He has two children — a son, Isaiah, twelve, and a daughter, Zoe, nine. He is calm in a way that immediately registered as unusual, because the men in my life — Terrell, Curtis, even Darnell — are all loud in their own ways: loud in anger, loud in silence, loud in opinion. Derek is quiet. Not silent — quiet. The kind of quiet that suggests he's listening, actually listening, not just waiting for his turn to talk.
We talked for forty minutes. He asked about my cooking. Not "do you cook?" — he asked ABOUT it. What do you make? Who taught you? What's your favorite thing to cook? Questions that treated cooking as a serious thing, a real thing, not "women's work" or "domestic duty" but an art. I told him about Mama. I told him about the Folgers can. I told him about Set the Table. He listened. He listened the way water receives a stone — completely, without resistance. When I finished, he said, "That sounds like a life's work." I said, "It is." He said, "I'd like to hear more." He said it casually, like he says everything, but his eyes were serious. He meant it. And I thought: he might be a person.
I drove home and called Vanessa from the parking lot, the same way I would have called Mama, and I said, "I met someone." She said, "Tell me everything." I told her everything. She said, "Is he a person?" I said, "He might be a person." She said, "That's how it starts." She's right. That's how everything starts: might be. Could be. A man by a piano. A woman in pearl studs. A question about cooking. Might be.
Those sandwiches at New Birth stayed with me on the drive home — not because they were good, but because they weren’t, and I knew why: whoever made them was fulfilling a duty, not telling a story. I have been that person. I have also been the person who decided never to be that person again. So here is what I would have brought to that mixer, what I’ll bring if there’s ever a reason to go back — a proper spread of finger sandwiches made the way Mama taught me, which is to say, made like somebody’s watching and somebody’s worth impressing. Even if that somebody is just you.
Fabulous Menus for Feeding Large Groups: Church Mixer Finger Sandwiches
Prep Time: 40 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 40 min (plus 1 hr chilling) | Servings: 24 (3 sandwich quarters per person)
Ingredients
- 3 loaves soft white sandwich bread (24 slices each), crusts removed
- For the Chicken Salad Filling:
- 3 cups cooked rotisserie chicken, finely shredded
- 1/3 cup mayonnaise
- 2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
- 2 celery stalks, finely diced
- 1 tablespoon fresh lemon juice
- 1/2 teaspoon onion powder
- Salt and black pepper to taste
- For the Pimento Cheese Filling:
- 2 cups sharp cheddar cheese, finely shredded
- 1 jar (4 oz) diced pimentos, drained well
- 1/3 cup mayonnaise
- 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
- 1/4 teaspoon garlic powder
- Salt to taste
- For the Egg Salad Filling:
- 8 large hard-boiled eggs, peeled and chopped
- 1/4 cup mayonnaise
- 1 teaspoon yellow mustard
- 1 tablespoon sweet pickle relish
- 1/4 teaspoon smoked paprika, plus more for garnish
- Salt and pepper to taste
- Softened unsalted butter, for spreading (about 4 tablespoons)
- Fresh parsley, for garnish
Instructions
- Make the chicken salad. Combine shredded chicken, mayonnaise, Dijon, celery, lemon juice, and onion powder in a medium bowl. Mix well and season with salt and pepper. Cover and refrigerate while you prepare the remaining fillings.
- Make the pimento cheese. In a separate bowl, combine shredded cheddar, drained pimentos, mayonnaise, cayenne, and garlic powder. Stir until well combined and slightly creamy. Season with salt. Refrigerate.
- Make the egg salad. Chop hard-boiled eggs to your preferred texture — some chunky, some smooth. Fold in mayonnaise, mustard, relish, and smoked paprika. Season with salt and pepper. Refrigerate.
- Prep the bread. Using a serrated knife, remove crusts from all slices. Lightly butter one side of each slice to act as a moisture barrier and to add richness. This is the step people skip. Do not skip it.
- Assemble the sandwiches. Working in batches by filling: spread a generous layer of one filling on a buttered bread slice, top with a second slice buttered-side down, and press gently. Repeat across all three fillings. Keep varieties separate on your work surface.
- Cut and arrange. Cut each sandwich into 4 triangles or 3 rectangular fingers. Arrange on serving platters by filling, slightly overlapping. Dust egg salad fingers lightly with smoked paprika and tuck fresh parsley between rows for color.
- Chill before serving. Cover platters tightly with plastic wrap and refrigerate at least 1 hour. This allows the fillings to set and the flavors to come together. Serve cold or at room temperature within 2 hours of setting out.
Nutrition (per serving — 3 sandwich quarters, mixed)
Calories: 285 | Protein: 13g | Fat: 14g | Carbs: 27g | Fiber: 1g | Sodium: 480mg