November 15, 2020 - Potato - Potahto
My kids will tell you that I am one of those people who cannot stand to see food thrown out. I will go to crazy great lengths so that this doesn’t happen. My strategies include…
-Bringing perfectly good food to my awesome niece T because her hubs and her adorable kids love leftover pizza, lasagna, mac n cheese, chicken, etc. My kids sure don’t. (We would love it too, but we order in non-vegan food when our kids come over.)
-Asking – when we go to our kids’ house for a meal – if there is anything they are going to throw out that is vegan. I will bring it home.
-Having a variety of containers in the freezer that will eventually become soup.
-In the days we used to go to restaurants, bringing home virtually everything from everyone that was otherwise going into the garbage.
This obsession of mine does not come from my Mother. Her motto was “When in doubt, throw it out.” But she had a vested interest here. She loved to go out to eat. So if the fridge was bare…
My theory is that this is tied to my Irish heritage. And they have a history of starving. I’m referring to the Great Potato Famine from 1845–49. I am only ¼ Irish but I could eat potatoes at every meal.
*****
A side note. The Carries came to Canada from Ireland, not because of the famine but because my ancestor – Mary Carrie – killed someone – so she and her husband had to flee. At least this is how the story goes. There was a home-invader and her husband tried to stop him. He was unsuccessful. Mary then bashed the intruder on the head with a rock. You maybe want to think twice about stealing food off my plate! 😊
*****
Back to potatoes. You know that the most obnoxious smell in the world is a rotten potato or two or twenty. And, if you have ever worked at a food bank that takes donated produce, you know that you are going to receive pounds and pounds of potatoes that are a mix of rotted and good.
And you know the job that I will always request? Sorting the potatoes. I kid you not. OK, there are a few things – other than my Irish heritage – that work in my favour.
-I have very little sense of smell. If I can smell something, we are all in trouble. (Unlike my mother Marj and Grandfather Pa who could actually smell mouse droppings. They would go mad in my rescue ratlet household.)
-Sorting potatoes is really easy. But, figuring out who gets what when resources are so limited is one of my worst nightmares. I just want to give everyone everything. Especially when I know that otherwise most of this food is heading for a landfill site.
-No one else wants to do it.
-I SIMPLY LOVE POTATOES.
Why am I writing about potatoes? Well, there is this funny smell at our apartment. And – I repeat – if I can smell something – we are all really in trouble.
At first I thought it might be our ratlets, but I am fastidious about keeping them clean. And they are too – constantly washing themselves – and they are litter trained.
I went to get onions from our in-apartment storage room and had to move a bag of spuds. Gah! The bag was weeping the worst stench you can image. I gingerly transferrrd them into a bucket and into the kitchen, and washed the storage room floor with disposable towels.
Thankfully, half the bag was salvageable. The other half went to the garbage room – triple bagged.
Hubs looked at the five pounds of potatoes that I was about to boil and he was soon to mash. He asked, “What are we going to do with all of these potatoes?”
And I want to laugh out loud. Normally I cook up 10 pounds at a time, and we eat them within a few days. And what we and the ratlets can’t eat? They’ll end up in a tiny bag in the freezer to be revisited in a week or two when I make soup.
*****
I understand that you can make amazing “hooch” with potatoes. I have never been able to understand why folks would be willing to sacrifice potatoes for vodka.
But with night starting at 4 pm, and very grey days ahead. I might be willing to learn. (Just kidding, Mom.)
-Bringing perfectly good food to my awesome niece T because her hubs and her adorable kids love leftover pizza, lasagna, mac n cheese, chicken, etc. My kids sure don’t. (We would love it too, but we order in non-vegan food when our kids come over.)
-Asking – when we go to our kids’ house for a meal – if there is anything they are going to throw out that is vegan. I will bring it home.
-Having a variety of containers in the freezer that will eventually become soup.
-In the days we used to go to restaurants, bringing home virtually everything from everyone that was otherwise going into the garbage.
This obsession of mine does not come from my Mother. Her motto was “When in doubt, throw it out.” But she had a vested interest here. She loved to go out to eat. So if the fridge was bare…
My theory is that this is tied to my Irish heritage. And they have a history of starving. I’m referring to the Great Potato Famine from 1845–49. I am only ¼ Irish but I could eat potatoes at every meal.
*****
A side note. The Carries came to Canada from Ireland, not because of the famine but because my ancestor – Mary Carrie – killed someone – so she and her husband had to flee. At least this is how the story goes. There was a home-invader and her husband tried to stop him. He was unsuccessful. Mary then bashed the intruder on the head with a rock. You maybe want to think twice about stealing food off my plate! 😊
*****
Back to potatoes. You know that the most obnoxious smell in the world is a rotten potato or two or twenty. And, if you have ever worked at a food bank that takes donated produce, you know that you are going to receive pounds and pounds of potatoes that are a mix of rotted and good.
And you know the job that I will always request? Sorting the potatoes. I kid you not. OK, there are a few things – other than my Irish heritage – that work in my favour.
-I have very little sense of smell. If I can smell something, we are all in trouble. (Unlike my mother Marj and Grandfather Pa who could actually smell mouse droppings. They would go mad in my rescue ratlet household.)
-Sorting potatoes is really easy. But, figuring out who gets what when resources are so limited is one of my worst nightmares. I just want to give everyone everything. Especially when I know that otherwise most of this food is heading for a landfill site.
-No one else wants to do it.
-I SIMPLY LOVE POTATOES.
Why am I writing about potatoes? Well, there is this funny smell at our apartment. And – I repeat – if I can smell something – we are all really in trouble.
At first I thought it might be our ratlets, but I am fastidious about keeping them clean. And they are too – constantly washing themselves – and they are litter trained.
I went to get onions from our in-apartment storage room and had to move a bag of spuds. Gah! The bag was weeping the worst stench you can image. I gingerly transferrrd them into a bucket and into the kitchen, and washed the storage room floor with disposable towels.
Thankfully, half the bag was salvageable. The other half went to the garbage room – triple bagged.
Hubs looked at the five pounds of potatoes that I was about to boil and he was soon to mash. He asked, “What are we going to do with all of these potatoes?”
And I want to laugh out loud. Normally I cook up 10 pounds at a time, and we eat them within a few days. And what we and the ratlets can’t eat? They’ll end up in a tiny bag in the freezer to be revisited in a week or two when I make soup.
*****
I understand that you can make amazing “hooch” with potatoes. I have never been able to understand why folks would be willing to sacrifice potatoes for vodka.
But with night starting at 4 pm, and very grey days ahead. I might be willing to learn. (Just kidding, Mom.)