This may be hard to believe, but there was once a time when I hated baked potatoes. How could I claim to be a true Idahoan and a hater of baked potatoes in the same breath? How did I live with myself?
I remember there being a period of my life when I couldn't decide if I even liked potatoes at all. My family would normally have potatoes with our Sunday dinners--boiled, mashed, stuck in stew (and baked)--and I couldn't decide how I felt about them. One week I'd eat a mound of mashed potatoes with a river of gravy, and the next I'd sit with my arms crossed in front of my plate, nose upturned.
"Jillian, why aren't you eating your potatoes?"
"I don't like potatoes!"
"But...didn't you just eat them last week?"
"I don't like them anymore."
The next Sunday I'd be back to eating potatoes.
This happened multiple times. Do I know why it happened? No. Do I like analyzing weird things about myself, like why my tastes would change so rapidly from week to week, and then try to turn them into a metaphor of my life to explain my other weird tendencies? No. But some people like to do that. So you can if you want to.
I love potatoes now. I'm a potato girl. A true Idahoan. Boiled, mashed, baked, French fried, tater totted, scalloped, cheesy oven-baked, hash browned, stewed...even in the form of potato rolls and potato clocks! (Although I don't eat the clocks.) I love potatoes of all colors and forms. Except sweet potatoes, but those aren't really even potatoes. They're just gross.
Lincoln's Birth Story
6 months ago