An English In Kentucky


















Wednesday February 12th 2014  Tim Candler


     Only about four weeks to prepare for Potato. The Co-op round here  as a rule has two varieties.  Kennebec, an irritating name for a white Potato even if it does have a few knobbles, and Red Pontiac, which is smooth and kind of OK with a bit of pepper. You can get them for around fifty cents a pound, and they come in a nice big paper bag, which really does feel wholesome. And best not to be obnoxious when discussing Potato with the Co-op, because the men and women who work there have the wonderful advantage of not having been sent to the "have a nice day" finishing school and they know more about Potato than I do, so if they don't stock it, it means that either it doesn't work or that it doesn't grow well in this part of the world.  Oddly, The Grocery Store also sells seed Potato, and they will have exotics with how to plant directions, they come in ornamental packaging  and they cost about five times as much as the Co-op Potato. And generally you find Grocery Store Seed Potato between the bread and the birthday cake aisle. The point is that last year we had a truly wonderful Red Potato, and I don't believe it was a Pontiac Red from the Co-op, so it either came from the Grocery Store or the Hardware Store, and I just can't remember what the Potato  was called.

      I do remember it was a more knobbley Red Potato. The kind that doesn't take well to peeling, which means probably that it's an older variety of Potato that some how has persisted despite the years and years of breeding Potato so that they can be just about tasteless but easily peeled by a mechanical peeler, then frozen for the deep fryer, then made to taste like bacon, or cheese.  Kind of like if it was possible to grow chickens that were square, had no legs, no head, no bones and no feathers, the bastards would probably do it, because it is so important to over feed that population of people who can already afford to eat. And here I begin to feel an antagonism toward profit making entities of every shape and form,  not helped by the total usurpation of the Olympic Ideal by the short sighted cretins that run our world and the creeps that slither around them desperate for commercial endorsements. None of which really directs the mind toward a useful contemplation that might identify last years wonderful Red Potato, but as they say, what is a person without a passion.  I do remember some while ago planting a Potato called Viking Purple. This too was a very fine Potato, and grew well in a dry year. So when I do pluck up the courage to go into town to hunt for Seed Potato, I won't be completely gormless, and I won't go all knees up for any kind of Potato with Adirondack or Sampler Pack or bloody Russet in their name.


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