My first taste of the garden's potato crop could not have come in a more beautiful package. Purple and pink streaked skin opening up onto pearly white flesh. Do I eat them or were them as jewelry? Eat them, of course. They were the first things to go. And I can take no credit for any kind of recipe or cooking either. I boiled them in the skins until the were just tender to the knife drained them and bashed them around in a deep sauce pan with salt, pepper, a few sliced green onions and an alarming amount of brown butter. I beat them up till a few skins broke open and let them go all crisp and golden in that fragrant, oniony brown butter and that was all. My husband is from Germany and will not tolerate an inferior potato. He was deeply pleased with this batch. So was I. When the commercial potato is one of the most genetically modified foods on the market, I feel so grateful to be able to set a plate of good, pure and delicious food down in front of my family. It is a gift to be simple.
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