For those of you who adore this tuber, here’s an ode I came across. Personally, I don’t really like potato. I don’t eat French fries, chips or crisps as the British call it. Don’t like baked potato either. It’s ironic that sometimes I’m called kantang<\/i> (Malay term for potato) by some Singaporeans I meet, by virtue of the fact that I come across as so English-speaking and Westernised. Anyway, not a big fan of potato in general but like this cute ode to it.
\nOde to the Potato<\/b>
\nby Barbara Hamby
\n“They eat a lot of French fries here,” my mother
\nannounces after a week in Paris, and she’s right,
\nnot only about les pommes frites<\/i> but the celestial tuber
\nin all its forms: rotie, pur\u00e9e,<\/i> not to mention
\nau gratin or boiled and oiled in la salade ni\u00e7oise<\/i>.
\nBatata edulis discovered by gold-mad conquistadors
\nin the West Indies, and only a 100 years later
\nin The Merry Wives of Windsor<\/i> Falstaff cries,
\n“Let the skie raine Potatoes,” for what would we be
\nwithout you–lost in a sea of fried turnips,
\nmashed beets, roasted parsnips? Mi coraz\u00f3n, mon coeur,<\/i>
\nmy core is not the heart but the stomach, tuber
\nof the body, its hollow stem the throat and esophagus,
\nleafing out to the nose and eyes and mouth. Hail
\nthe conquering spud, all its names marvelous: Solanum
\ntuberosum, Igname,<\/i> Caribe, Russian Banana, Yukon Gold.
\nWhen you turned black, Ireland mourned. O Mr. Potato Head,
\nhow many deals can a man make before he stops being
\nsmall potatoes? How many men can a woman drop
\nlike a hot potato? Eat it cooked or raw like an apple
\nwith salt of the earth, apple of the earth, pomme de terre<\/i>.
\nTuber, tuber burning bright in a kingdom without light,
\ndeep within the earth where the Incan potato gods rule,
\nforging their golden orbs for the world’s ravening gorge.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
For those of you who adore this tuber, here’s an ode I came across. Personally, I don’t really like potato. I don’t eat French fries, chips or crisps as the British call it. Don’t like baked potato either. It’s ironic … Continue reading