Thanks to Facebook and Aunt Frances

 

                I love Facebook! You can “face” your “friends”, but—unlike in person—you can scroll through everything you don’t want to “hear” them (or THEIR friends) “saying.” The technology amazes me! How so much information can be called up so quickly blasts my brain cells.

                By clicking “like” beneath any picture or message or forward, you can give notice that you agree or that you really do like whatever it is. You can “face” and visit with folks you don’t get to see but once or twice a year—Lucidity poets, for instance.

                You can “share” any pictures, comics, humorous illustrations, recipe presentations, etc. that appear on any of your friends’ “timelines” or on the general “news feed” onto your own timeline/status (I haven’t quite gotten the difference.)

This last subject is what I want to describe.

                Picture it (if you’re not on Facebook or have not seen it): two unpeeled baked potatoes, one in front of the other, exact same size, cut crosswise into many small slices (larger than for chips). Think perfectly twinned potatoes. Directions say to drizzle olive oil, butter over them, add sea salt and pepper, bake 40 minutes at 425 degrees.

                I “shared” it on my timeline, thinking that since I had a cellophane-wrapped baking potato, I would try it. At least two other friends said they believed they’d try it, too.

                As is the custom in food mags and pictures of food, presentation is the key. Mouth-watering, perfect lighting, perfect objects. I would try to replicate the picture.

So, Thursday, I betook myself into the kitchen to prepare this scrumptious dish. On Wednesday, Aunt Frances had brought luscious food from their garden—fresh asparagus, two garlic cloves, a small baggie of sugar snap peas, small red potatoes, and small white potatoes. Her husband, Uncle John Pelton, is the ultimate home gardener.

I de-cellophaned the potato I’d had  for too-long-to-remember, set it on the Pampered Chef cutting board, found my Pampered Chef thingie with spikes close together (for cutting boiled eggs, onions, etc.), pulled out a knife—I was ready.

Something about one end of the potato looked suspicious, so I cut into it to check the soundness. Oops! Good thing. I began slicing from that end, and piece after piece was black in the center. Alas! Only half was usable. So much for presentation. I’d have to find a way to re-present. No sweat.

I sliced the half-potato using the “slicer.” Hmm. Not much there. But I remembered Aunt Fran’s potatoes. I sliced them, too, found a small square, pear-motifed baking dish, sprayed it with oil and arranged all three different spud types into it.

Olive oil I drizzled; coarse sea salt I shook, pepper also. In the meantime, then I clicked on the potato picture once more and noticed that others had used a variety of herbs and spices.

My spice shelves were crowded since Billy brought all his (originally mine) home from the HSU apartment. I added dried onion and onion powder. Surely….

Who wants to heat up the kitchen when a microwave sits in the corner of the countertop?  I cooked the potatoes in two-minute increments until they were tender.

Not much to look at; not worth posting on Facebook, but good tasting.

How could it not be tasty? If I can figure out how, I’ll add the picture to this post.