PBS cooking shows were on the tv. After watching Julia Child make a tarte de pomme classique in black and white, we moved on to Scandanavian cooking. I lost track of how many times the host, standing in a luscious green field overlooking a fjord or something, uttered the word potato.
“Norway is a potato nation,” he said.
“The importance of the potato should not be underestimated.”
I agree, friend, I agree.
He then proceeded to serve mashed potatoes with fried pike and a crayfish sauce. Gag me. What a way to dishonor the vegetable of your nation. We might as well just break out the lutefisk and call it a day.
Not a fan of seafood. More for you.
The host pronounced his national vegetable po-tay-toe, by the way. In Norwegian accented British English.
Po-tay-toe.
Po-tay-toe.
Po-tay-toe.
All I can think about are … po-tay-toes.
Wasn’t one of the Teletubbies named Po?
Isn’t the United States also a po-tay-toe nation? We have an entire state whose name is synonymous with po-tay-toe. Plus there are shrines throughout the country dedicated to po-tay-toe worship. You’ll find them marked with the sign of two golden arches and guarded by the patron saint of po-tay-toes, a clown named Ronnie.
As much as I love po-tay-toes, I don’t really count them as a vegetable. I think of them as a starch, like bread, pasta, etc.
Some days I feel like a po-tay-toe.
Some days I probably look like one.
Is anyone else hungry? For carbs?
