Mrs. Teabody Talks about Spud Love

For some it is the ultimate comfort food. Familiar. Dependable. Uncomplicated. It is a staple found in most kitchen pantries. It is the sometimes rejected but always offered "side" in a restaurant meal. Think about your favorite meals from childhood and it played a role; think about a vegetable that is served daily in school cafeterias, at almost every fund-raising or celebratory banquet you have ever attended and even at most wedding receptions.  Think about the ultimate American fast food meal of which it is the noteworthy companion to the burger.  Yes, Gentle Reader, we are talking about the potato.

Mr. Webster describes the potato as "a starchy plant tuber that is one of the most important food crops, cooked and eaten as a vegetable." For me as a child, it was almost the only vegetable I would eat. Beat the hell out of Brussels sprouts I can assure you . . .

You can do almost anything cooking-wise to a white potato and it will still be delicious.  At its simplest, you can wash it a bit and munch on it raw or stick it in a real oven or in a microwave and cook it until it is rapturously soft and silky inside and use it as a transport vehicle for butter.  If you grew up in this German/Scots-Irish area of Pennsylvania, a typical evening meal looks/looked like this. And please don't try to tell any of us that a big black cast iron skillet does not impart a flavor all its own to our favorite spuds.

I mention all this because we just spent a week in Ireland where the potato enjoys almost legendary status. It is available in some form at EVERY breakfast, lunch and dinner and any restaurant, bistro, cafe or diner owner knows NOT to run out of this delicious side. The potato's versatility means you can boil, bake, saute, roast or fry it. You can leave it whole in preparation or shred it to bits or anything in between.  You may peel it and remove its eyes or not. Regardless of what you try to do to a potato, it still respects you by offering up deliciousness. 

Ireland loves its spuds. Nothing was more audacious than serving two kinds of potatoes on the same plate. Here with the Sunday roast are two golden roasted potatoes and under the beef, a mound of mash.

They also love their potato chips, aka crisps.

We may argue with the tendency to call french fries "chips" or potato chips "crisps" but that does not mean any of us will turn them down. These crisps are especially delightful because not only do they offer a delicious snack but they tell you something wonderful about the Irish character: pride. Turn the bag of crisps over and you find this:

Can you imagine what the world would be like if we all had to put our names on the products we created? And I don't mean just crisps or cars or JLG lifts. I mean financial transactions and, yes, indeed, I mean legislation. The mind reels. So, Thank You Andre for the crisps. Thank you, Keogh's for your transparency. And Thank You to everyone who plants, harvests and shares this most delicious of vegetables--the lowly, scrumptious potato.  And now this bag of crisps wants to breathe the local air . . .