…I ate a potato last night.
Just one. One measly red backyard potato.
Because after weeks and weeks of anxious checking, they finally said, “Oh, OK, here – have a couple visible potatoes. Now you can go ahead and ‘hill us up’ and feel like an actual gardener, geesh, whatever…”
So naturally I kind of dug around a little bit because I was curious, and that one potato was just so…perfect…so beautifully the right size, so frivolously red, so curvaceous…I just couldn’t resist.
So I picked it and brought it inside and roasted it and then I thought I’d try a bite before I did anything to it, just to see what it tasted like.
I mean, I already know what butter and sour cream and salt and pepper tastes like. Backyard red potatoes, though – new experience.
It really was sublime. Creamy, a little bit sweet, with that indescribable thing TV cooking shows call “good mouth feel.”
The flavor was light like air; the texture and feeling was as if I’d drowned it in butter.
I want more. More, more, more.
(Fortunately, there will be more. Lots and lots and lots more. And there’s also the white Kennebecs [which also started peeking out of the ground yesterday] and the purple ones! We’re going to be up to our eyeballs in spuds in another couple weeks around here…)
It was such an unusual cold
3 months ago
I never understood why people grew their own potatoes until I tasted some my friend had grown. here's to many more...
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