Ode to Potato

I grew up odd.  I tried to hide it in elementary school with mixed success.

One homework assignment had us writing a description of our favorite food without naming the food.

The food I ate in my house was very ethnic.  Pierogi, golumpki, chrusciki, and gallons of homemade soup.  Nearly any food item could be made into a soup.  Pumpkin soup, sorrell soup, cherry soup, beet soup, or soup made out of some strange-looking bones that I have never seen since my childhood.  I used to say that you can’t leave your dirty socks laying around since my grandmother would make soup out of them.

So this food description assignment came across as a great challenge to me.  We didn’t go out to eat in restaurants.  Pizza and hamburgers were foreign fare to my kitchen table.

So I played it safe and boring; mashed potatoes became my favorite food.  It was common and I did love them anyway.

My description went sort of like this:  A hot, snowy mound.  Fluffy, salty, and buttered towering alongside the meatloaf and canned peas.

Of course the other kids guessed what food this was, but they still thought I was odd to pick something so common in a world filled with dozens of tastier food choices.

Yea, I knew that, but a vivid description of chopped, pickled pigs feet in a fatty, gelatinous aspic might of made those kids sick.

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