Eight potato...eight purple Peruvian potato. Unexpected. Like a lover who's left me for someone else only to come back to me. Like a birthday gift we did not even know we wanted.
I first found these few beauties on the walkway by the compost pile. I saw their little heads shining above ground, like a bald man's snorkeling in the ocean. The rain from the last few days must have unearthed them. What jewels!
Later in the day I went on a treasure hunt and started digging like a mad squirrel looking for its favorite nut. I really did look like a crazy person. And every few minutes I'd yell a little victory yell and run in the house and extend my hands full of purpleness to show my husband. I was five again.
The cause for the excitement, you see, is that these repentful lovers had been planted not one but two seasons ago if I recall correctly. By all accounts not a success. Now, the prodigal tater returned with a bountiful of love for our crappy soil. Go figure, we first planted them in rich, dark, organic soil and not much happened...then we tossed their remains in the compost pile and BOOM! they find their way to the most compacted sandy & crappy soil in our garden and hug us back.
Potatoes can be weird creatures.
Never marry a potato.
We feasted on these for dinner. Roasted. Free range chicken. Garlic. Olive oil. Salt & pepper & thyme. Lots of wine. Heaven. No pics of the gory plates filled to the brim...they were gone in a flash. Can you blame us?