Some Twain With Your Potatoes, Dear? Or The Bit Where I’m An Insufferable Smart-Arse.
The cat purred gently at my feet as I peeled the potatoes for tonight’s dinner. I was humming “Do You Know The Way To San Jose?” and happy in my task. From the kitchen window, I could see my dear Problem Children tearing up the lawn to make mud-pies for their teddies. “Little tykes!” I thought, smiling and shaking my head at their wanton unruliness. Nothing could interfere with my happy mood. My thoughts turned to Blogland.
The Problem Older Husband entered the kitchen, striding purposefully, on his way to somewhere (maybe the garage or maybe San Jose). He stopped short when he saw me at my peeling.
“Are we having potatoes, again?” he asked
“Yes!” I answered lightly, trying to ignore the slight emphasis on “again”. Nothing could spoil my peeling reverie.
“We’ve had them a lot this week. Are you on a potato kick or something?”
Again I ignored the hint of accusation in his voice. Nobody accusing me of potatoes would bring me down. I tossed my head, nonchalantly.
“No, I just fancied potatoes, and besides, they’re one of the few vegetables Problem Daughter 1 will eat.”
“She’s certainly getting some practice”, said Problem Older Husband.”
This was as water off a mallard to me. I began humming again. Problem Older Husband had a momentary rummage in the fridge and then, munching on a pickle, watched me for a minute. I peeled a bit more. “I’m going back to find (boom) some peace of mind lalala.” I sang quietly.
“These are new potatoes” he said, “You know, you don’t really need to peel them. Just a scrub and they’re ready for the pot.”
I turned magisterially from my bucket of peelings and fixed the Problem Husband with a cool stare.
“Well, I’m just saying” he said, clearly perturbed by the iciness of my very, very cool stare. “It’s not what you do with new potatoes.”
Turning the stare temperature even further down, I fixed the Problem Husband with a brass monkeys look and quoth:
“Loyalty to petrified opinions never yet broke a chain or freed a human soul in this world–and never will. Mark Twain.”, said I, wondering if I’d remembered the words correctly.
“Right” he said.
To a casual obserever I may have seemed, then, to return unperturbed to my work. But in my heart played a Mariachi band and I partied inwardly with a silly inward hat on my inward head. A smiled played secretly about my lips.
Another kitchen sink-triumph! Another night I have earnt my rest.
A wee spot post-post business. I’m “wirepeach” of the comment box, by the way. In case anybody thought I wasn’t responding to your comments. I may be from the Outer Hebrides but I was not brought up in a field. Manners maketh the blogger. Sorry, for the confusion. I’ll change it in a bit.
June 28th, 2006 at 8:56 am
That is just about the best put-down line I’ve heard – guaranteed to end any discussion – excellent!
June 28th, 2006 at 9:41 am
Huzzah! I would have gone with the ‘oh thank heaven you came in to explain to me how to make dinner, golly gee wizz, whatever would I have done withyout your vital imput.’ Naturally this would have been driping with sarcasm and eye twitching, and dinner would have been a tense affair. Your putdown was delightful and just deft enough to avoid any friction, huzzah! We bow to the Mistress!
June 28th, 2006 at 10:57 am
I once had a choir of potatos. They sang poorly but tasted just about the same as the ones that weren’t members of the glee club.
See, ‘tators can get damn boring if they’re made the same every day.
On each of those days, did you prepare them in different ways? If you say, NO, boiled ‘em each and every time, then I’m going to have to agree with your aged partner.
June 28th, 2006 at 12:42 pm
Yep, am imbecile.
June 28th, 2006 at 12:47 pm
Oh, of course, THAT one posted! Have been having trouble commenting on my own site. My previous lament was “can’t … comment …on own … blog. Am clearly imbecile. Prior to that, my proper comment was:
Shebah, fmc and safe t, it was a point of pride for me. Nobody knows more about potato preparation than an Outer Hebridonian. We are born crying for them and are often given tiny silver peelers of ou own when we’re christened. Rough blippety -blip calculations lead me to believe I’m close to peeling my millionth potato. I expect strangers to burst into my
kitchen at any time, with balloons, champagne and a large cheque, congratulating me on my feat. The “new potatoes” Problem
Older Husband spoke about were no newer than a kangaroo’s hop. Besides, PCB is no scrubber, ladies and gentlemen; she’s a peeler.
June 28th, 2006 at 12:48 pm
Success!
June 28th, 2006 at 1:38 pm
Are you Wirepeach as well? I did not know that.
You say potato, I say tamata.
This is why dinner is odd.
June 28th, 2006 at 1:57 pm
Mashed tamata? Doesn’t really have the same…you know, yummy factor going for it.
June 28th, 2006 at 6:18 pm
I’m with you, Sam. Potatoes never get old. I like hashbrown casseroles, myself.
Cheers.
June 28th, 2006 at 7:03 pm
“A spud that’s peeled is a spud indeed. Fanny Cradock”. But try yams next time.
June 28th, 2006 at 9:23 pm
Confusion begone! Wirepeach no more.
fmc, tamata mashed with potato sounds OK. Wee bit of salt and pepper and voila! A small feastlet.
Wordpress will not take this comment for some reason. I hate Word Press.
June 28th, 2006 at 9:25 pm
Ah. Now I’m PCB again. I apologize for my unseemly front-stage technical difficulties here.
June 28th, 2006 at 9:26 pm
Yeah ‘with’, but that ain’t what the doc prescribed. Sheeeeet, what do I know, we have been partaking of the beer. yeah yeah, we, the royal we.
June 28th, 2006 at 9:50 pm
fmc, not only does a Royal wee, but they poo too. I’ve heard even the queen does, but I don’t believe it. I expect she has someone to take care of all that unpleasantness for her, The Royal Remover or the Widdler-in-Waiting or some such.
Doc Macaroon (are you a son son of a Maroon or the first purplish colour in your family). Dinner is often odd at Casa Problemo. We had beans and beetroot a few weeks ago because the girls wanted to eat something the same colour as their clothes (J-orange, K-purple). It was a good idea too because getting a beetroot stain out of anything other than purple is a bugger. These girls are smarter than they look.
Randall, hash-brown casserole sounds heavenly. It’s mine and the Problem Husband’s 7th wedding anniversary on Monday and I think I may have to serve him some of that for his brekkie, rather than the usual twiggery and shrubbery he claims I normally feed him in the morning. Have you got a good recipe for that, you could give me? Can I make it ahead of time and freeze it, or is it best served straight from the dish?
Mr. Nanas, as fate would have it, i’ll trying to coax my weeest twin into eating sweet-potato fries tonight in an attempt to stuff a different kind of vegetable into her. She has an astonishing repertoire of two vegetables at the moment.
June 29th, 2006 at 1:34 am
Kitchen sink victories really are the best kind, aren’t they? and thanks for getting that damn song stuck in my head. You and BlogHer…
June 29th, 2006 at 9:30 am
Goodness me, you are an even natured woman, aren’t you? If my husband had said that, whether I’d been humming Abba’s Dancing Queen or any other fab tune, I would have shoved the potatoes under his nose and said, “If you’re so clever, why don’t you do them?” ?Where did you learn such patience oh wise one?
June 29th, 2006 at 12:40 pm
Recognise any of these beaches from the Outer Hebrides?
http://silversprite.wordpress.com/tag/beaches
Have put some in of late from Lewis.
June 29th, 2006 at 1:06 pm
Sam/Wirepeach, don’t change your name por moi, I’d have worked it out in the end.
I’m sure I would have.
June 29th, 2006 at 7:02 pm
I like green vegetables: beans, peas, spinach and leaves. Whenever a human gets tetchy my first reaction is to assume that he/she is constipated.
June 29th, 2006 at 9:34 pm
Mr. Scoop has learned not to question how often we have a particularly item for dinner. He’s just happy to not have to cook.
Personally, I’m a fan of red potatoes – in a rough chop, roasted with olive oil, garlic and rosemary in a 350 degree oven for about 40 minutes or until crispy!
June 30th, 2006 at 11:55 am
Firstly, they aint called Potatoes, they is SPUDS. Spuds are great, so versatile: new spuds, ould spuds, boiled spuds, mashed spuds, roasted spuds, in spuds, out spuds, Sam Spud, Mr. Potato Man. No wonder they were our staple diet for years……
June 30th, 2006 at 5:02 pm
Is there a scorecard I might use to keep track of the host’s identities? Oh god you’re not a multiple personality are you? If so, no offense intended…some of my best friends over the years have been the confused sort. I’m especially intrigued with the “matching color dinner plan,” which I assume might alter one’s wardrobe choices if it were to become the norm?
June 30th, 2006 at 6:56 pm
Sorry, but I would say that POH won that one – your comment about ?Loyalty to petrified opinions never yet broke a chain or freed a human soul in this world?and never will. Mark Twain.? applies equally well to your habit of peeling all types of potatoes, even the new ones that don’t require peeling (according to some sources)
July 1st, 2006 at 6:43 pm
Mark Twain? Wasn’t he the one who sang ‘That don’t impress me much’?
July 2nd, 2006 at 9:33 am
When me was little Monstee, me and friends would play with our Mr. Potato Heads all the time. They all had to have jobs like firepatato, policepotato, mailpotato…
Me always wanted mine to be President/King/Lord/God of Potato land. One friend me had just wanted to start in mail room and work him way up to cub reporter, then to take over the “street beat,” then hard news, then get on TV and deliver news. We both got what we wanted, but never spoke again. After all, me was royalty and him was commen-tator.
July 2nd, 2006 at 2:30 pm
Don’t want to boast but I knew you were wire peach.
I have a very helpful husband – just like that – imparting useful snippsts of info that I have known since my cradle. And why can husbands eat pickles and never get indigestion.
BTW not that I’m nosy or anything – well just a bit – is your husband an American that he finds it strange to eat spuds most days?
Are you happy about Andrew Murray’s exp;loits yesterday?
July 2nd, 2006 at 7:24 pm
Monstee, I always wanted to be a big penis potato.
That way I’d be a dictator.
July 2nd, 2006 at 11:25 pm
I asked someone in the office the other day, “May I borrow your dictaphone?” and he said, “No, use your finger as you normally do.”
July 3rd, 2006 at 2:31 am
Mom101 I have “The Love Songs of Burt Bacharach” inexorably stuck in my noggin, having rediscovered it from a road trip to Chicago about 7 years ago. All together now “What the world needs now, is love, sweet love…’
Emma, I am the most even-natured bipolar person whose blog you will ever encounter. Apart from at full moon. I’m barking then.
John, lovely photos, thanks for them. They make me feel not a little homesick.
Dr. Maroon, there’s always one isn’t there? Wasn’t is arrantly clear that Problem Child Bride would call herself wirepeach. I mean they share some of the same letters, don’t they?
GB, a Minnesotans with constipation is the very devil.
Scoop, mmm! That sounds delicious. If only you got blue potatos I would serve them as yopu suggest with red and white ones on the 4th of July.
Spud is a very good word, Flutterfly. Up my way we called them tatties.
Joel, I’m not in the least confused, unlike every other man, woman and child on earth. God, you lot are all lunatics!
Joe, you may well be right but I’ll never admit it.
Foot Eater, yes it was.
Monstee, i certainly hope he wasn’t such a pauper he had to wear tattie clothes.
Pat, yes. Potatoes as a staple seems to be a strictly Northern European thing. My mother could do anything with a potato. She once busted Jeffrey Archer out of jail with a potato convincingly fashioned into a hand-bag-sized pistol.
SafeT, thank you for introducing the word penis to the discussion – that along with the child bride thing should bring even more pervy Googlers to my site.
Foot Eater, is dictation what British taxpayers are paying their doctors to do? In the office?
July 3rd, 2006 at 4:07 am
I have had this very same potato conversation!
My Dearly Beloved says that he’s eaten enough potatoes in his Pennsylvania Dutch childhood to never want to see another potato again.
I can only come up with “tough cookies” as a witty retort. I’ll have to remember the Twain.
July 3rd, 2006 at 11:22 am
Potatoes aren’t vegetables! They’re STAPLES.
Silly woman.
July 3rd, 2006 at 3:17 pm
Jozet, one day we will all have the potato conversation. Or every Northern European married to every American will. Manna from heaven is the ‘tato. And God eats them too.
Swearing Lady. Potatoes as staples are addressed deep, deep in the comments somewhere. I don’t think there was a day in my childhood when I didn’t eat a potato. Root vegetables are the only sort that will grow reliably in the Hebrides. Vegetables there aren’t so dumb as to try and attempt growing above ground, where the wind would surely rip -em from the ground and send them far out to sea. I believe Northern Europeans have a sort of proto-second-stomach evolved to deal entirely with the spud.
July 3rd, 2006 at 11:57 pm
I can’t imagine too many meals which you don’t serve with potatoes.
OK, unless it was with rice or a pasta dish.
My Mum always taught me to serve a starch with the dinner. It’d be a rare day when that starch was not a spud.
Not that hubby would DARE complain about what he was getting or he’d end up wearing it!
A hash brown casserole sure sounds good!
July 5th, 2006 at 5:58 pm
My mother is so insane that she serves potatoes with spag bol and lasagne.
Then again… every restaurant in Ireland does that, using the skinny but glorious form of chips.
July 6th, 2006 at 3:31 am
Pervs look for child brides with penises? That’s some discriminating pervs…!
July 8th, 2006 at 9:08 pm
Hashbrown casserole is a cinch and amazing! My version (to the best of my memory at work – if you want an actual recipie pop over to my blog and leave an email I’ll get it out to you in the next couple of days):
Grate potatoes (6 or so med to lg) and cover in boiling water (leave to cool). Meanwhile in glass cassarole dish combine 1 can Cream of Mushroom soup, herbs and seasonings to taste and about 1 cup grated cheddar cheese. Drain potatoes and stir into casserole dish. Cover with a bit more cheese and bake in a moderate oven til bubbly and cheese browns on top (about 40 min).
My family ADORES this stuff!
Eddie (the American currently living in Scotland where the potato is a vegitable, not a starch!)