Monday, March 18, 2013
Last year, sometime in November or Decemberish, I decided I wanted to try to sprout some potatoes.
It looked like a middle school-kids science project. Glasses of water, tooth picks, and suspended potatoes all over the patio table. Level of hope? mmm... 1.6
I really wasn't sure much would come of it. The roots were growing, but the host potato was looking quite horrible.
I let them grow on... which, if I were being true to all of us, meant- I gave up and was too lazy to clean up the table- with a small sliver of hope that one may grow a horn, turn into a potato-making-unicorn, and use its rainbow powers to fill my garden beds with buckets of starchy gold.
A month or so later, I planted them in the garden. And when I say planted, I mean, I chucked them in the dirt because they looked gross and were starting to smell. I then covered the smell with more dirt. See? Planted.
I watered them once.
Then I forgot.
A month later.
Oh my gosh!... I called my sister frantically like I had just turned water into wine. A little bud poking out of the ground! Shit... now I have to learn how to take care of this thing? When to water it? When to pick it?
Three months later, a lot of forgetting about watering them later, and a lot of bragging about how I was going to have so many potatoes that I'd have to give them away... I got, 19, tiny, baby, red potatoes.
The red part was the most exciting. I had no idea which of my rotten franken-potatoes had taken root.
The biggest is close to the size of a golf ball... the smallest, a pea.
Austin and I split one raw, right out of the ground. It was phenomenal. It honestly tasted as if it had already been cooked.
I'm in tiny potato heaven.
Posted by Ashley Lauren Weber at 9:58 PM