By Desmond Featherby, Covered Dish Correspondent

KETTLEMOOR — Every month, the members of Brindle Creek Community Church carry their casseroles into the fellowship hall, set them on the long table and write their names on strips of masking tape. And every month, without fail, one dish has no tape at all.

It is an avocado-green slow cooker, the 1970s kind with a glass lid and a dial that only says LOW and HIGH. It has appeared at all 196 potlucks the church has held since March 2009. It has never once been claimed.

"It's always plugged in by the time I unlock the kitchen," said fellowship committee chair Lorraine Upwood, 71, who unlocks the kitchen at 7:30 a.m. "I've started arriving at 7:15. It's still there. One time I came at 6:50 and the outlet was warm."

Members generally agree the crockpot holds some kind of meatball. Beyond that, there is little consensus. Some describe the sauce as sweet. Others call it tangy. Deacon Harold Brisk insists it tasted "a little like Christmas" at the July 2017 picnic, which was outdoors, in 94-degree heat.

What nobody disputes is that it is always the first dish to run out. "You learn to go to it first," said longtime member Phyllis Ruddock. "You can come back for the seven-layer dip. The seven-layer dip isn't going anywhere. The crockpot will be empty by the second verse of the doxology."

And then it vanishes. Volunteers on cleanup duty report that the crockpot is always gone before the dish rack is full, cord and all. No one has seen it carried out. The church's lost-and-found log has no entry for it, which Upwood calls "the most suspicious thing about it."

The committee has tried to solve the mystery. In 2014 it introduced a mandatory dish sign-in sheet; the crockpot's line was left blank 23 months in a row, and the 24th entry simply read "Thank you." In 2019 two trustees staged a stakeout from the church library with a thermos of coffee and a pair of bird-watching binoculars. Both reported stepping away "for maybe a minute" to help carry in a table.

A 2022 index card taped to the lid, reading "PLEASE IDENTIFY YOURSELF, WE JUST WANT THE RECIPE," was returned the following month with a single word written on the back: "No."

Suspicion has fallen at various times on the Ruddocks, the youth pastor and a retired mail carrier named Gus who sits near the coffee urn. All deny it. Gus said he "wishes it were me," then went back for thirds.

Some members have suggested that the matter be raised at the annual business meeting. Others warn that asking too many questions could make the crockpot stop coming, a risk the church is not prepared to take.

"We've made peace with it," Upwood said. "The table looks wrong without it. Last month someone brought a second green crockpot, and the whole hall went quiet. Turned out it was just Bev's chili."

At press time, the November potluck sign-in sheet had 31 names on it and one blank line, already saved.