Potatoes

Today's different moment. 

I bought some potatoes. Normal, ordinary potatoes. Not the orange sweet potatoes which I buy a lot of. But spuds. The spuds we used to eat as kids. The spuds I've peeled and cooked as a child.

There were different types of spuds at the supermarket. As a child, we bought spuds by the 25 kilogram bag. They lived under the sink in the laundry. By the time were reached the bottom of the bag, the spuds often had tails growing out of their eyes. I was raised on potatoes - mashed, boiled, baked, roasted... they were a part of daily life. 

Now, I literally never have potatoes unless somebody else is cooking them or I'm out. 

I can't remember the last time I bought potatoes. I don't cook them for myself as a rule, preferring the lower GI, higher fibre sweet potatoes, when I have them. I've been shamed out of cooking potatoes over the years by various diet gurus. 

It's not that I don't like potatoes. I LOVE POTATOES. Mashed potatoes. Boiled baby potatoes with lashings of butter. Blarney's roast potatoes. My mother's roast potatoes (especially when they are done with roast lamb, in the pan juices). Thom's garlic potatoes with enough butter to stop your arteries five times over - they are very good. Oh, and chips... yeah, potatoes are good. 

But in my head I've been trained over the years  that potatoes are evil. The devil's food they are. High GI little balls of lust and desire.                                     

So, sitting in my fridge is  half a tub of coleslaw and a bit of cheese and some butter. And it's a cold day. So why not bake some potatoes. I mean a baked potato with cheese and coleslaw - what could be better. And it's vegetarian. And filling. And easy - part cook in the microwave, then 30-40 minutes in the oven And just wonderful.  

I have to say, potatoes are bloody marvellous. 

And tomorrow, I will go back to being an avoider of these, wonderful, sinful, versatile little balls of joy.

Today's song: