A Valentine's Potato

humble potato:
crispy mashed fried baked scalloped

heroic tuber

Consider the above haiku my Valentine's Day gift to all of you. This February 14th, I'm happy to report that the love of my thus-far 2011 life is none other than the humble potato. Unpretentious, dependable, and always delicious, the potatoes in my life have been quietly playing second banana to my roasts, chickens, and pork loins. Until now. Now, my ski-bum budget has all-but-eliminated tender cuts of meat from my diet, and my favourite tuber has become the carb-loaded après ski snack of choice. Often, it is the star of (or only) component of my suppers and lunches. Don't worry, I'm taking multi-vitamins to ward off the scurvy.

Garth, my sister's boyfriend, knows we Selkirk sisters love potatoes. With that in mind, he lovingly picked out my Christmas gift from the thrift store. I didn't mention it in my Christmas Gift Awards because I knew it deserved it's own post.

A Microwave French Fries Maker.

Even the name of it sounds wrong. Let's venture into the etymology of "french fries", shall we? See, they have something to do with the French, and more importantly are fried. Meaning, delicately bathed in oil. Lovingly simmered in fat. Not microed, and certainly not waved.

But that's okay, right? It's the 21st century. Innovations have been made. This might be one of them. I'm too young to live in fear of new technology. Let's microwave some French fries!

Step 1: Open box. Look! It comes with a warning: "DO NOT USE FROZEN FRENCH FRIES AS MOST OF THEM MAY CONTAIN OILS AND FATS." It's in all caps, so you know they mean business. We certainly wouldn't want oils and fats contaminating our potatoes! I know when I choose fries, I don't hope they contain oils and fats, I want it guaranteed! But we'll try it your way, microwave fries maker.

Step 2: The chosen victim/specially selected potato

Peeled and sliced appropriately.

Seasoned according to my tastes, which means a healthy dose of both salt and seasoning salt.

Distributed in the specially designed microwave tray that is going to simulate a deep fryer (ha).

Eight wildly-anticipated minutes later, the "fries" are done. Look! They're the same colour as before they went in the microwave. That's the sign of a perfect fry! Pasty white!

Taste verdict: These were delicious! So good, I think I'm going to try roasting a chicken in the microwave next week -- à la 1988!

Reviews of the rest of the household:

Chris: "Hmm....interesting."
Garth: "These are like rubber"
Roxanne: "I never knew a potato could taste like this." Which was followed shortly by "I think that was the first potato I didn't like". 

The finished product.

Yes, these were a horrific travesty. Although they still tasted vaguely like a potato should, they were chewy, squishy, dry (but not crispy), and truly lacking any redeeming quality that an actual French fry has. After they had cooled down, they firmed up to be the texture of something I can only compare to licorice. They were, however, surprisingly flexible, and if potatoes had the Olympics these would surely Michael-Phelps the gymnastics portion.

I know the true sign of a good fry is that when you can bend it in half and the skin doesn't even break.

Yes! Potato face!

The final resting place.

Post Script: I'm dedicating this blog entry to B. L., a ski bum who is rather unfortunately allergic to potatoes, but will be lucky enough make it through life without ever having to eat a microwaved French fry.