I have doubts on sprouts
But peas they please
And parsnips give me pleasure.
But of all the veg
I give this pledge
Potatoes are my treasure.
Extract from “King Spud” © 2010 Nick Balmforth
Mr. Balmforth, author of those lines, is clearly a man after my own heart – a heart that fairly swells with pride when my little potato treasures start to blossom, signalling to the world that new potatoes are not far behind.
The sign that says new spuds are a comin'
When I say south, I mean Kinsale, and if you had been in search of fish, mad hairy Slovenians and actual-in-person bloggers this weekend, then you would have hit the jackpot at the culmination of Kinsale Arts Week. The fish were fresh and plentiful in the many fine eateries that populate the town, the Slovenians, in the form of the absolutely lunatic-but-in-good-way Terrafolk, entertained in the magnificent setting of Charles Fort and I was there doing my bit to help fulfill the last part of the equation, participating in a panel discussion on
Fishy Fishy Kinsale
Oh the excitement!
The day which would see the eagerly anticipated unearthing of the first new spuds was finally here. Visions of tuberous bounty filled my head, as I grabbed the garden fork and gloves and sallied forth to the vegetable patch. Mentally, I had already applied steam, butter and salt to the first of many straight-from-the-garden spud dinners. Happy days.
I tackled one of the outer drills, where I had planted a new-to-me spud, Colleen, and which had been the first of the varieties planted to burst forth into flower. The foliage throughout the patch was lush, green and healthy-looking. The first few tentative probes with the fork yielded nothing and then, working the soil a little closer to the stalk, a yellowy tuber appeared.
Ah, there you are young spud, now, come to Momma...
We had lift-off. One potato, two potato, three potato…