Potato Me

For the first two weeks of September, I was fighting a head cold. You know the kind–starts with a sore throat, progresses to a stuffy head, a runny nose, winds down to a racking cough.

Normally, I would indulge myself in the kind of food I normally avoid—carbs, but when I’m sick, I feel I should have whatever I want. The trouble with this particular cold was, I wasn’t hungry for anything, not cake or potatoes or pasta or a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g! What?? Me lose my appetite? Even though I didn’t have a fever, I tested for covid twice and was negative both times.

Now that the cold is gone, my appetite is back, but I have food guilt. I don’t feel justified in eating banned foods. I am thinking about them, though, to the point where it could be described as a craving.

What I want to do, but won’t, is go to Costco and buy that big bag of huge Idahos and have a potato fest every day.

Monday, I’d like it baked with lots of sour cream, chives, cheese, and turkey bacon. That’s my favorite.

Maybe Tuesday, I’d go to the trouble to make them au gratin.

Then, Wednesday, a favorite from my childhood–mashed in lots of butter and covered in thick gravy.

I love gravy. I know a chef who says, “Don’t call it gravy. It’s sauce.”

Well, whatever the proper nomenclature, I love it –creamy country gravy, robust brown gravy, mushroom, Hollandaise, Bearnaise, Bechamel . . . but . . . I digress.

I’ve said that if I were going to be a chef, I’d either be a pastry chef or a saucier.

Going back to the potato menu for Thursday, French fries. I’m a little fussy when it comes to French fries. I like them golden brown and crispy. Like in the menu pictures. It upsets me to be served pale, limp fries.

Then, on Friday, I could have potato pancakes with sour cream and chunky applesauce. A little onion is required in the mix. Crispy, they have to crunch when you bite into them or they weren’t done right.

Scalloped is good for Saturday– lots of cream and butter—golden brown on top.

For Sunday, sliced like steak fries, rolled in olive oil, coarse salt, fresh ground pepper, chopped garlic, herbs d’ Province, and then roasted until –you guessed it—golden brown.

That’s one week of potatoes, all full of carbs and calories. I bet, if given time, I could come up with a whole month of recipes.

I won’t, because what most often comes with potatoes is guilt, but it’s fun to think about and maybe I’ll go to the store and buy the biggest baker I can find and have it for Sunday. There are no carbs, calories, or guilt on a Sunday potato.