I'm even getting sick of Mr. Potato Head

Several weeks ago, we started receiving new organic goodies at our doorstep each week. And I have got to say that we're still a fan. Every Friday now, we're like kids waiting to see what Father Christmas is going to bring. My Bride usually calls me at work to gleefully recite the contents of this week's box. Kiwi! We have kiwi! And runner beans! Many, many runner beans! And a really cool squash thing! Wow! Can't wait to try that! Anything that makes us this excited about vegetables is Really Very Cool® But, oh yeah... did I mention the potatoes? England is a land of the potato. Everyone here seems to be a fan. There's not a meal in the cafeteria at work that can be served along with or (more usually) on top of a potato in one shape or another. Fish & chips. Curry & chips. Sweet & sour pork on a jacket potato. Beans on a jacket potato. (As a rule of thumb, I'm of the school that baked beans belong with one thing and one only: chopped up hot dogs. And no one over the age of 12 should ever be offered this as a 'meal'). There are few dishes at any restaurant, for that matter, which don't come along with a side of chips as an option. Once, I took a large team out to the teppanyaki place in Liverpool (think Benihana), and the Teriyaki Chicken & Knife Show came along with a side of chips, coooked right there on the griddle in front of us, between the fried rice and little shrimps. Don't get me wrong. I'm a fan of the potato. A serious fan. I grew up eating potatoes, and have occasionally lamented the fact that we don't eat more of them at home. We're a rice family, and I'm totally ok with that, but occasionally I crave a steaming, floury baked spud dripping with butter. Apparently, the vegetables-in-a-box people have resolved to ensure that I never have reason to suffer from such a craving again. Every week we receive at least 8 or 9 potatoes in our box, rolling around at the bottom, coated in dirt still fresh from the organic farm. 8 or 9 potatoes a week. The first week, I was like, hey, cool - mashed potatoes. The second week, I fried up some potatoes with pancetta and garlic. Top with a fried egg, and you've got yourself a good breakfast. And then again a couple of days later I fried the rest up with parmesan and fresh herbs for a nice side dish. The third week, I made potato skins. And some more mashed potatoes. And then some scalloped potatoes. The fourth week, I panicked slightly when I saw more potatoes rolling around in the box, and started pulling out the recipe books for ideas. Now I'm beginning to dread seeing the damned little spuds in the bottom of the box, mocking my culinary creativeness with their potato-selves. Trying to come up with new and original ways to treat the potato in our kitchen. Seriously: British People - I need you to get over the potato. This kind of obsession can't be healthy. Try a little rice. Or a yam. Or something. At least for one week. Oh well, there's always the catapult option. Next week: How to use up a half-dozen giant carrots every other week.
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Don't ask, she'll tell...

This past week, the Critter's Godmother has been visiting from California. As always, this has been a wonderful visit. (A couple of years ago, she went to Sicily with us). Last week, she and my Bride took themselves off to Venice for a girls' holiday where they could enjoy the scenery and exchange tales of the people they knew when they were in college together, and I stayed home with the Critter. I figured I travel enough with my work that my Bride could use the break, especially with Squirmy well on the way. A week without my Bride around gave me a whole new respect for single parents, as I was struggling to find time to get my work done around the obligatory trips to drop off (no earlier than 8:30am), pick up (no later than 3:30pm), and act as a taxi service to various extra-curricular activities. Like having to actually be present for violin class at 9:40am one day. Yeah. Never mind that I've actually got a meeting to go to, or something. Excuse me while I go listen to Variations on Twinkle Twinkle. But the Critter, I must say, was an absolute angel during the whole week, making the adventure in single parenting as easy as could possibly be. Other than demanding we make popcorn on a nightly basis, she pretty much went along with all of my suggestions, although she tossed me aside like so much rubbish the moment she saw my Bride's car coming down the driveway. Yesterday, I returned to normality, heading off to work in the morning hours, and returning at a suitably early evening hour, as normal. When we sat down to a great Chinese dinner, my Bride and the Godmother told me that the Critter had been sorting out how we all knew each other today. Critter: Mom, you used to live with Godmother My Bride: That's right. We lived together when we were in school. Critter: And then you met Daddy. That's right. Critter: And then you dumped Godmother, and married Daddy. I know the Critter is fond of telling her classmates nearly everything. I'm sure this one will make good eyebrow raising fodder for the mums at the Queen's School for Girls. 'Don't worry,' I told my Bride, as I struggled not to laugh through my salt & pepper tofu, 'we'll just tell them it was your experimental university stage.'
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