POTATO

   Between Jes and I, "potato" is a word. Not a concept, not a title, not even the obvious name for a specific underground vegetable. In the very beginnings of our relationship (some might specify the period as mere friendship), it was a word I said at random, to break the tension of not knowing what else to say. As my social skills are often lacking, silence is usually the response I give in normal contexts, but this was an online chatroom, a whole other ballpark. Silence connotated an air of ignoring someone. If you wanted to show interest, and you weren't a normal conversationalist like everyone else, you had to speak up, even if what you typed made absolutely no sense. At least you were there; at least you were alive. 
   So, I'd type "potato." We used it in Scrabble, we used it as an insult, it was the scapegoat in everyday conversation. Among a slew of other hat-choices, "potato" stuck almost like a cuss word in our vocabulary. Ironically, it became a flavor-enhancer, and only we were in on the joke. We had even considered buying one of every variety and handing them out as Christmas presents to each of my family members. (My dad would get the fingerling.) What had originally started as a reason for Jes to call me weird now brought her under that umbrella: we were "the odd couple." And you could say bananas were equally responsible.
   So there you have it. "Potato" means a lot to us, and we're not really sure why. 

   Potatoes, on the other hand, seem to present themselves as the ultimate kitchen challenge, for myself at least. I mean, if vegetables are supposed to be easy to cook, then potatoes do not deserve to be categorized as such. Indeed, they'd probably be much more comfortable at the bottom of the pyramid.
   I must tell you about my potato stigma. I do not have the patience to cook potatoes. In fact, I very much dislike including them in any meal because of it. And I had long known that they take some extra time to reach the perfect doneness, had even unveiled secrets in my research which called for cutting potatoes in order to speed the cooking process.
   But when I decided to tackle them for the first time, in 2011—two whole months before meeting Jes in person—I had babysat them for what I was certain was borderline too-long, only to find that seasoning and plating them only made them look appetizing. The luster they lacked was obvious upon the first bite: they had simply refused to cook through. I've never resorted to using a microwave oven to actually cook something, but that was probably the closest I'd ever come to doing so. I had given up hope, and would rather stomach their undercooked bodies than heat-treat them once more for an indefinite period of time.

August 11, 2011 - Balsamic Steak

   Ignore the "steak" off to the left that appears to be crying tears of shame. There are plenty of excuses for that to be heard. But also note the date. This was four years ago. My skills, creativity, plating design, and nearly every other aspect of my former self have changed since. Only my hatred for preparing potatoes remains the same.
   OK, that's not entirely true. For one, I'm no guru when it comes to meat; but at least I can judge when it's done without cutting it open. Potatoes, however, must be in my mouth before they can disappoint me. Not a month later, I took the rest of that sack and tried again, as yet another side to a horribly cooked cut of steak. Hey, I've had high hopes for every meal I've ever crafted. It's just the fact that both of them came out unsatisfactory which shows they ended up being paired pretty evenly.

September 30, 2011 - S&P Swiss Steak

   To quote my feelings after this meal, "I do not like cooking them." There are mushrooms in there as well, and a dab of sweet hot sauce I had received as part of an online order. That probably explains the burnt goodness that tried to hide the undercooked starchiness. And I don't know what it is about steak that just begs to be paired with potatoes, but this was, in fact, the last time I put the two together—not that I stopped cooking either of them, but where I got better with beef, the other became the bane of my kitchen experience.
   Fast-forward to life with Jes. She loves mashed potatoes and doesn't mind the instant kind. I'm not a fan of mashed, but I'll eat it; I much prefer baked, and separate entirely from Jes's tastes, I think sweet potatoes are amazing. Yes, I know they're not technically potatoes. No, I don't care. But, both of us thoroughly enjoy roasted potatoes, and I am thankful that Jes has such oven expertise that she can rectify my stovetop failures.

January 10, 2015 - "Aside" Dish

   Remember those high hopes I'd mentioned? These red potatoes were originally sautéed in a pan that I had just finished sizzling shrimp in, for the fabled ramen meal of repurposed legend. I added a splash of white cooking wine and a couple of pieces of butter, then tossed these "cubes" in and did my worst. Finally, when I admitted to Jes that I could not successfully tend to potatoes, I handed over the baton and she roasted them to the perfection seen above.

Deli-cious

   After reading up on those deviled eggs we made, Jes had a sudden hankering for all things hard-boiled. Well, mainly just eggs. She made me buy a dozen in this expensive economy—there's been an egg shortage nationally, or something—on my way home from work. But, apparently, potatoes were also on her mind.
   Visit a deli and it'll be easy to see that potato salads are very popular, so much so that there's usually more than one kind (three-potato and red-skin, to name some). My absolute favorite happens to be an Oktoberfest specialty, full of flavor, oil and bacon; I am hopefully looking forward to having that this season. My mother occasionally buys the Black Bear premade stuff, which aside from the excess of runny, white mayo can be quite tasty. But homemade anything is instantly better, and is often easily recognized.
   Summer picnics, barbecues, family reunions, and general visits to my grandfather's house had my relatives eating one mayo-variety that included pickle slices and shredded carrots. Fresh, tangy, colorful, and unique—all words to describe what we call "giddo's recipe." My mom usually made it sans pickles and carrots, which I equally enjoyed, but being different from grandpa's gave his a sort of delicacy status.
   Yet, no matter who was making it in my family, the potatoes were always boiled: Peeled first, and then submerged in a bath of boiling water. (Actually, if memory serves me correctly, my mom was boiling water for potatoes when the issue of adding salt to water was initially brought to our attention.) This might be why the very first potatoes I cooked, shown above, were boiled—whole and unpeeled, because they're much tinier.
   Jes, being from the west coast, has a more unique look on foods than I've been exposed to in NJ. This is both due to regional trends (location) and her separate heritage. She apparently has a lot of Northern Europe in her blood, and while I've both grown up with and live in an area with a lot of Dutch and German influence, Jes's take on potato salad happens to be so ingenious that I'm surprised I'd never heard of the variation.
   To be fair, it's not hers any more than pickles and carrots would be mine, but her mother, Ruth, famously made it for their family gatherings where it was lovingly called "potato lollie." And the history behind it is, I think, simply beautiful:
   One Easter, Jes's grandpa wanted potato skins for an appetizer. So, Ruth baked potatoes, halved them and scooped out the meat of each, fried the skins into shells, and then added the fixings such as bacon and cheese. But what became of the actual potato? Ruth decided to take those hollowed-out guts and put together a salad. Talk about saving scraps. If one recipe doesn't need something, spend it toward another.
   Of course, the salad was as much a hit that meal. Ruth's brother would ask for it time and time again, though no one can really be certain how the name "lollie" stuck to it. Ruth will call it her Famous Potato Salad, but I don't think Jes and I can escape referring to it by its pet name, especially since I've actually tried it.

The Radioactive Potato

   We went shopping in my mom's pantry—a legitimate practice for us. A box of russet potatoes was the prize here, specifically those bearing the seal of Idaho. "Russet" simply refers to the skin color, meaning "brown." As opposed to red-, white-, blue- or yellow-skins, russets are good for baking, and those grown in Idaho are boasted to benefit from "ideal growing conditions" (true story). Personally, I don't care which state grew them, just as long as God made them.
   So, Jes took up 5 medium-sized ones, I guess the length of my palm. I don't know if my palms are big or not, but now I'm self-conscious about it. Anywho, she gave them a good scrubbing, blinded them (i.e., gouged out their eyes), and set them on the bare oven rack after it was preheated to 350 degrees. Initially, she waited 35-40 minutes, and aren't you glad I'm being so precise about this? I mean, of all things, I'm timing an oven-baked potato.
   One-liner comedian Mitch Hedberg once commented on this exact phenomenon: "Sometimes I'll just throw one in there, even if I don't want one. But by the time it's done, who knows?" True to theory, when she checked their doneness, Jes had to raise the time an additional 25 minutes. I asked her how she checks, because I was honestly intrigued, and the answer made me cringe: You squeeze them, really quick. I am familiar with the game Hot Potato, which sounds painful enough for my chicken, tender fingers, but having to reach into an oven insulated with searing-hot metal simply to do so certainly does not better my prospects. She does use a towel to protect her fingertips, but she had to remove one from the oven in order to get me to try it. A softened yet firm texture was the goal, but I'm convinced that heat was the only thing I could feel.
   When the 25 minutes were up, three of them were perceived done, while the other two received another 10 minutes, bringing the grand total time for baking these medium Idahoans to 60-75 minutes. This probably fluctuates with ovens, individual potatoes and heat-loss from opening the door, which is generally why I don't prefer timing things. But, knowing the basics such as a minimum time-frame, visual cues for doneness and the desired texture, I could probably dare to bring potatoes into my meals again.

Baking Potatoes

   Once they're done, the potatoes are set out in the open air to cool before they're finally refrigerated overnight. This will not only make the skins shrivel and separate, but will also make breaking them up more tolerable, as Ruth characteristically gives them hands-on attention. As Jes was preparing them, I would have loved to save those skins for something (I'd always eaten them as remnants of baked potatoes from my childhood), but alas! she tossed them before I could express my wishes. Le sigh.
   A day later, after peeling and crumbling them (admittedly with the aid of a knife), Jes added all of the other ingredients and finished the job before I could even wake up. The only true difference between this concoction and her mother's tradition is actually a consequence of region. The American history of mayonnaise is an interesting tale, but to cut it short, in the 20th century, the Eastern United States had Hellmann's while the Western United States had Best Foods, with the Rocky Mountains serving as the dividing line. At some point, Best Foods bought out Hellmann's brand, but otherwise kept the two distinct in name, regional distribution and recipe. So, while Ruth and Jes are familiar with one taste of mayo, the majority of the US calls another its norm.

September 13, 2015 - Baked Potato Salad

   Don't think I'm going to leave you dry. I've been saving up the suspense for this very moment. I introduce to you the first official recipe to be listed on this site, by simple virtue of it not being mine. Without further ado, I present to you Ruth's potato lollie, which incidentally shares her recipe for pasta salad:

Mommy's Famous Potato Salad

1 package elbow noodles / 4 or 5 large russet potatoes
2-3 green onions, sliced thin and broken apart
1-2 large cans jumbo black olives, cut in half (amount varies by preference)
1 celery stalk, sliced really thin (optional)
1 cup or so mayonnaise (too much will make the salad slippery)
½ to 1 teaspoon spicy brown mustard (add incrementally to taste)
salt and pepper (to taste)

Boil your noodles, don't overcook. Drain and cool.
Or, substitute noodles with potatoes. Bake your potatoes, then let them cool. Peel them and break them up into small pieces.

Cut up your veggies, then add to your cooled noodles / potatoes. Add mayo and mustard, and mix well. Taste for salt and pepper, or if it needs more mayo or mustard or onions. 

Chill for a few hours before serving.