Spuds. When I’m not eating them, I’m wearing them. Sometimes I even do both at the same time.
Did they know that?
No, but it wouldn’t have surprised them. Not one little bit.
Not the possession of a snake skin and potato pendant, nor the library of potato books, not the mr. and mrs. potato head, nor the glass potato (exhibit b., below), nor any of the assorted items of a spud nature – along with real, actual spuds – that I call my own.
Sonairte Potato Day:
first held in 2011 and lovely to see it make a return this year
under the stewardship of Trevor Sargent, with the
Lissadell/Langford collection on display, lazy bed demonstrations, good potato eating in the café, and talks on potato growing and
on the fascinating world of the spud
I will think of it hereafter as The Great Potato Standoff of 2013.
The white-haired gentleman had, in my absence, clutched one of my two packets of Lumpers and was peering somewhat demandingly in my direction.
“Well, are they for sale or aren’t they?” he said. It was more challenge than question. He repeated it several times.
Nobody, as the Monty Python crew once memorably observed, expects the Spanish Inquisition.
Everyone, on the other hand, expects spuds on Paddy’s Day, but I’ll betcha nobody expects spudakopita (cue Python-esque diabolical laughter). You can get the low down on this potatoey St. Patrick’s Day version of spanakopita below (though there’s no need to restrict its making to one day of the year – remember that potatoes are for life, not just for Paddy’s Day).
What is special about St. Patrick’s Day when it comes to spuds, though, is that it was, and is, a traditional day for planting pototoes in Ireland. Kaethe Burt O’Dea of SPUDS.ie (who is quoted in today’s Washington Post piece on Ireland and the trialling of GM potatoes) wisely suggests that we might do well to reclaim this day as a National Potato Day and relegate the consumption of copious pints to a supporting role. I’ll plant to that.
Plant a spud – or several – this St. Patrick’s Day (image from the SPUDS campaign)
Meanwhile, given the season that’s in it, I have found myself awash with samples of a spudly nature generously provided to me by assorted parties who know my taste in edibles only too well.