A couple of nights ago I pulled the bag of potatoes out of the pantry. Honestly, they haven't been there long enough that they should be sprouting. A few of them had poked right through the bag. Normal people might have thrown the spuds away. You already know I am not normal. I was repulsed and inspired simultaneously.
Calypso saw me taking pictures and added some of her own ideas as to how to utilize the spuds that were trying to either escape my kitchen or were plotting to kill us in our sleep. You can pick your nose. You can pick your potatoes. Now your potatoes can pick your nose.
She was going for the spokesmodel with a spud eye dropper here and yes, she is adorable but I am not seeing eye to eye (har har har) with that notion. I'm just a wee tad creeped out by the possibility of that thing possibly crawling through her eye and up into her brain where it takes root as it slowly turns her into some sort of tuberous zombie.
Diana was not impressed by our antics. The only creativity she wanted was that which would fill her stomach. I bet she wouldn't even crack a smile at the cheesy little French moustaches and beards I gave my dueling spuds.
Recognizing that I was not going to start cooking until she participated in the lunacy, Diana finally offered her own use for the rogue roots. Ever been flipped off by a potato?
Alright, already....I got down to the business of making latkes and we feasted on the wild spuds before they could feast on us. And no, this is not the first time the potatoes in my house have tried to foment rebellion. Here's pictorial evidence of The Spud Skirmish of 2006.
Last night's dinner was far more sedate and decorous as we feasted on Porcupine Balls thanks to Kat's posting of her recipe. Serve something called Porcupine Balls to three teenagers and wait for the comments to start. Dinner conversation will be roughly akin to the SNL "Schweddy Balls" sketch....only with meat...uh, yeah, with meat.