Potlucks are having a bit of a moment. Maybe it's an increasingly digital world that has us craving the deliciously imperfect nature of coming together around a table, but Southern Living is far from alone in celebrating the beauty of the community potluck.

In a new cookbook titled Potluck Desserts: Joyful Recipes to Share with Pride, author Justin Burke highlights the sugary delight of blondies, icebox cakes, and more—and does so through the lens and love of the queer community that he found and formed around Pyrex dishes and Fiestaware.

The book opens with his first queer potluck—an event that changed his life forever. "The potluck table symbolized unity, bridging individuals beyond societal norms. Amidst the laughter, I felt a sense of belonging," he writes in the introduction. Although that was many years ago in Southern California, Burke, who now calls Columbia, South Carolina home, is bringing that same camaraderie to the pages of his first cookbook.

You won't find kitchen scales, European butter, or other more niche baking staples called for in Burke's book. Instead, you'll find canned cherry pie filling and instant pudding mix.

A self-taught pastry chef, he has the kind of professional experience that one might associate with laminated doughs or pâte à choux, but instead he leans into these unsung baking ingredients. All the while he's still imparting pastry wisdom learned in professional kitchens, like why blooming cocoa powder matters.

"There is nothing wrong, absolutely nothing wrong, with using boxed mixes, or instant pudding, or canned pie filling," he says. "I think in calling them out confidently the whole point was to honor those home bakers that read recipes and see things on TV and on social media, and aspire to do it but can’t because they don’t have access to premium ingredients.” 

Accessibility is an overarching theme of the book, which is divided in chapters by bakeware, like loaf pans or sheet trays, instead of cakes or cookies. This layout was in part inspired by how most potluck items are served in the vessel they're made in, and you have to take into consideration how a dessert will travel in its pan to a potluck venue.

Burke also keeps the equipment needed for his recipes at a minimum (you won't find a KitchenAid mentioned in any of the instructions). “All the recipes use your hand, a spoon, or a hand mixer," he notes. “I grew up in the middle of the desert, very poor. So again, this goes back to the beginning. This is where I started. I wanted to get bakers comfortable. I wanted them to get back in the kitchen and play.” 

Would your grandma likely love many of the recipes in this book? Of course. (The Hummingbird Blondies, below, might be right up her alley.) But many of the recipes are updated classics or include a creative twist that make them feel distinct from the butter-stained family recipe cards you might already turn to. There's Blueberry-Amaretto Bars, a Wacky Cake that swaps some of the water for coffee, and a Caramelized White Chocolate Texas Sheet Cake—did you know you could caramelize white chocolate? You sure can!

The recipes aren’t rigid in formula and can be adapted to different pans or tastes. They're actually intentionally fluid, according to Burke—a word he chose on purpose, tying it back to the queer community. The desserts reflect a style of baking that's both retro-inspired and distinctly modern, and even a little messy, which ties into the parallel story of the book about Burke finding his community.

"That defining moment when you’re 18 and you move out of your home, and you’re beginning to accept who you are, and it’s a little messy, it’s clunky, it’s mysterious, and you’re learning about your community. It's same with baking, for me," he says. 

The cookbook reads like you're talking to a friend, with cook times for recipes stated as "an hour or so," and endearing headnotes and image captions like the one on his recipe for a Pride Celebration Slab Tart that reads, "a rainbow shirt isn't necessary for serving, but it definitely adds a nice touch."

Just like the queer community, a potluck is inherently diverse and colorful. "It's a kaleidoscope of dishes and bakeware, food and flavors, and sometimes you’re just outside or in a banquet hall, or inside your house, and it’s just tablecloths you have thrown together," he says. "It’s beautifully haphazardous [sic]. And I think the whole point [of the cookbook] was just to make people feel very comfortable being proud to bake and not shy to share it.”

Touring with a faith-­based performing arts group while in my late teens was an adventure that didn’t put me back on the straight and narrow as planned. Still, it did introduce me to some incredible food during our cross-­country travels.

One culinary gem I discovered was the hummingbird cake, a Southern “staple” brought to the States from Jamaica in the 1960s. It consists of layers of spiced cake filled with bananas and pineapples topped with cream cheese frosting—­carrot cake’s cousin. It was a potluck favorite, but its tall, uncut slices and tendency to tilt in warm weather made it less than ideal for sharing.

To solve this, I created hummingbird blondies—­a portable, potluck-­friendly version of the classic cake. Making these blondies are a bit of a labor of love and require tempering eggs, but trust me the process is easy to execute. Just take your time. The outcome produces blondies that are moist and chewy, with a cream cheese layer to balance the fruity sweetness. After baking, chilling them in the fridge for an hour locks in moisture and gives them a dense, chewy texture. The aroma as they bake is irresistible, and when you take your first bite, you’ll already start anticipating your next helping. Sorry, not sorry. — Justine Burke

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For the cream cheese swirl:

For the blondies: