Jenmenke

Road Warrior

potato

My Potato Patch: A Retrospect

I know it’s been a while.

I know.

Let’s put that behind us and move on to greener pastures.

Or dead ones.

The potato patch, to be specific.

Potatoes are a cash crop and worth the effort.

[No, not really.]

Potatoes grown in the garden are amazingly different from their supermarket counterparts and worth the effort.

[No, not really.]

Potatoes are so easy to grow and rarely fall victim to pests or blight and are worth the effort.

[No, not really.]

Like corn, it seems, every year, I grow potatoes, regardless of what my notes from the previous year tell me to do. I think the main reason is that I always have an empty planting box and withered, sprouting potatoes from the year before in the lower garage. It just seems silly not to plant potatoes.

So I do.

And then I listen to my dad bellyache about it for the next several months since I often guilt him in to digging them for me. He’s probably only really done it two, maybe three, times. But you’d think I had him out there slaving away every year since 1995 the way he goes on about it.

“Potatoes? Potatoes! Why’d the Hell you plant potatoes? I’ll buy you potatoes. I’ll pay you not to dig them. They don’t taste any different from the store. Geez”

…and on and on and on.

So it was this year as well. And I really had no intention of having him dig the potatoes. Really, I didn’t. But a series of events forced me to ask.

First, he was going to paint the barn. Then, when that didn’t pan out, he offered to paint the lattice on the screen porch. When we needed to use the parking spot where the lattice was laying, we farmed that project out as well.

Clearly he was in my debt.

And yet, still I refrained from assigning him potato duty. Not that I didn’t tease, and threaten. Sure I did. But I had no plans to go through with it.

Until that fateful Saturday in November.

He had willingly offered to accompany Charlie to his second annual Robotics tournament. Charlie had to be there at 8 am. It was a 45 minute drive, which meant they would have to leave at 7:15 am. No easy task for Gramps. He’s not a morning guy. I totally get that and it was one of the reasons I was delighted he wanted to go. –I take after him; I’m not a morning guy either.

The other reason was that last year’s tournament went all day.

All day. A robotics tournament, all day.

To be fair, I did want to make sure he didn’t feel like he had to do it. I even said, “You don’t have to do it, dad. I was planning to dig potatoes tomorrow, so if you don’t want to go, maybe you can dig the potatoes?” heh heh.

No, no, no, no. My plan worked! He was going. I was thrilled. My dad is the best!

Unfortunately, at 7:15 am the next morning, the loft was pitch black.

Pitch black.

So I threw the covers off, threw some jeans on, whipped my way-too-long-hair-for-a-46-year-old into a ponytail, screamed some things like, “WHAT ARE THOSE CLOTHES IN THE BATHROOM? WHY ISN’T YOUR BED MADE? ARE YOU READY? DO YOU HAVE YOUR STUFF?”

I threw the car into reverse and…

…nearly backed over my mother.

Who had run down the driveway in a panic wearing her gigantic fur coat that she keeps at the loft to tell me, “He’s up! He can take him. It’s fine!”

Which I knew was not true. He might be up, sure. But was he ready to go? Was he in the car? Why was my mother in the driveway, freezing her butt off? Or not freezing her butt off since she was wearing a big bear fur, or coyote. Or something.

“No, no. It’s fine. Just tell him he can either come relieve me at noon or dig the potatoes.”

And then I left her in the dust.

Ironically, it was also to be the first snow storm of the year. Which started around 11am and made it silly for him to drive all the way in to town to relieve me, and even more important for me to get the potatoes dug. And so began a day long email exchange:

The first, from my dad:

 

In between these two emails he called me and we decided he shouldn’t drive in. And he grudgingly said he’d dig the potatoes.

By this time, I was starting to suspect he was just messing with me. –That he had dug the potatoes hours before and was simply having fun at my expense. I went along with it, acting enraged.

 

 

 

 

He called me again, to ask me where the garden fork was. He was really hamming it up. I mean for crying out loud. I continued to go along with it. “DAD! It’s in the garden! If it’s not in the garden it’s in the barn hanging up! Where have you looked?!”

KJDJDSHSHST…YOU ARE BREAKING UP…. silence.

And he was gone.

*******

The sloth really didn’t dig the potatoes. He laid on the couch, watching the snow and reading a book all day. Morgan and my mom both tattled on him, so I know it’s true.

And, after the snow melted a few days later, I went out to the garden to see this:

The garden fork, in the potato bed.

So he’s a liar, too.

 

 

 

Meatless Monday Eight!

Lowly Potato Soup.

I could almost call this Stone Soup. It’s practically the same thing.

Wait, no. That sounds bad. This really is good soup. It’s seems to make a lot of something out of practically nothing. So, in that way it is like stone soup.

It is a very old family recipe.

Actually, like most things I say, I don’t even know if that is true. It seems like a very old family recipe to me, probably because we don’t have one of those families with a rich tradition of cooking — passing recipes from generation to generation — like some. I remember eating this as a kid. And it wasn’t my mom’s recipe. It was my aunt’s. And my aunt couldn’t cook. So how this recipe came to be a success is a complete mystery, unless it was never hers to begin with. Hence the lore that is is an “old family recipe.”

How’s that sound?

Anyway, this was yet another Meatless Monday where we were not together for dinner. I had my monthly bookclub meeting. It was being held at the best cook in the club and I wasn’t going to miss it for anything. Not even if swedish meatballs were on her menu. Oh my gosh. Those swedish meatballs…

…are fodder for another post….as soon as I wrangle the recipe away from her.

I will be eating meatless today (Tuesday) to make up for my Meatball Monday transgressions and will be looking forward to the potato soup. I should mention that Dave was leaving town again Tuesday, so I couldn’t just push Meatless off until today, because — by God, he was not missing another Meatless Monday, I was going to see to that. So I made them the soup before I left for bookclub. Simple as that.

So the soup. What can I say about it? It is very plain. It is very smooth. It is very plain and smooth.

And also, it is very cheap.

And for some reason, every body seems to love it.

Oh, and it is very, very easy. It must be, because, like I said, my aunt was able to make it without burning it.

But there is nothing spectacular about it. It is just creamy potato goodness.

Oh I forgot another thing: it is very healthy, too. Barely a fat-gram to its name. (Assuming you are not one of the non-carbohydrate freaks of nature.)

So here it is:

Aunt Rita’s Potato Soup (for lack of a better name)
  • Russet potatoes, any size
  • cold water to cover
  • 3T flour
  • 3T butter
  • salt & pepper to taste
  • cheese for garnish
  • bacon bits if you are not partaking in Meatless Monday!
  • fried homemade durkee onions if you ARE partaking in Meatless Monday*

* which I will post if anyone is interested. They were so good!

Put unpeeled, whole cleaned potatoes in a large dutch oven or saucepan with a lid. (for 4 people with left overs, I used 4 baker-sized potatoes) Cover potatoes with cold water by about 1/2″ – 1″. Bring to a simmer and partially cover. Cook until potatoes are tender. DO NOT THROW OUT THE BOILING WATER. Drain the potatoes, reserving the water.

Let potatoes slightly cool and peel. Put the potatoes back into the pot and mash. You can put them thru a ricer or food mill first, for perfectly smooth potatoes, or you can use a hand masher. The idea for this soup is to get it mostly smooth.

For the roux, put 3 tablespoons of flour and 3 tablespoons of butter in a small skillet, stirring together as the butter melts. Cook, bubbling, over low to medium low heat about 5 minutes — just until the mixture barely turns a shade darker. (If you are making soup for less than 4 or 5, cut the flour and butter to 2T each.)

Over low to medium heat, add the cooking water back to the mashed potatoes, stirring until smooth, then add the roux stirring well. Simmer 10 minutes or so, adding more water if soup is too thick. Salt and pepper to taste. (it will need salt!)

My cousins insisted that you had to put the shredded cheese into the bottom of the bowl, so of course we do, using cojack or cheddar or whatever else green-sided hunk of cheese we find in the fridge. Then, add the soup and top with garnish of your choice. The garnish being a Menke addition.

Here is the picture Morgan took of her bowl, with the fried onion crisps, which were my attempt to combat the yearning for bacon. They scarfed them up so fast there were hardly enough for the garnish. Lord knows there weren’t any left for me today, so I can’t say one way or the other if the idea worked.

And here was my bowl that I had for lunch today. I added some chopped frozen chives for a little kick:

OK, I lied. I couldn’t take it:

So shoot me. It wasn’t Monday.