Potatoes

"The world's joy
is spluttering,
sizzling in olive oil.
Potatoes
to be fried
enter the skillet,
snowy wings
of a morning swan -
and they leave
half-braised in gold,
gift of the crackling ember
of olives."

- from "Ode to Fried Potatoes" by Pablo Neruda

I come by my love of potatoes honestly. My mother's side of the family is entirely of Irish origin. Her father's great grandfather came to Canada in 1835, while her mother's great grandfather came in 1838. In other words, they were well-established Canadian settlers more than a decade before the Irish potato famine. My ancestors continued farming in Canada and, in fact, some still do. Growing up a farmer's daughter, I remember potatoes being part of nearly every supper my mom put on the table.

The potatoes in this recipe weren't fried, but everything else Neruda wrote about them is true. They entered the oven on snowy wings, and, once roasted, exited half-braised in gold. (I don't know about you, but just reading that line made me want to eat them all over again.) The potatoes came straight from the farmer's market, so good they required only the subtlest of add-ins, like the jade of green onions and Neruda's ember of olives.

Roasted Fingerling Potato Salad
(adapted from The Globe and Mail)

1 pound (1/2 kg) fingerling potatoes, cut in half lengthwise

1 Tbsp olive oil (first amount)

kosher salt or freshly ground sea salt

2 thinly sliced green onions (scallions), white and light green parts only

1/2 celery stalk, thinly sliced

1 Tbsp chopped parsley

Pinch red pepper flakes

1/4 cup crumbled feta

1/2 Tbsp lemon juice
1 Tbsp olive oil (second amount)

Preheat oven to 450 degrees. Toss potatoes with 1 Tbsp olive oil, and season with salt. Roast for 20 to 25 minutes or until tender. Cool slightly.

In a small bowl, combine lemon juice and 1 Tbsp olive oil.

Toss potatoes with green onions, celery, parsley and red pepper flakes. Dress with the lemon juice mixture. Add feta and combine gently. Serve warm or at room temperature.

"I have made a lot of mistakes falling in love, and regretted most of them, but never the potatoes that went with them."

- Nora Ephron