Tous les Patates du Monde

The human female’s workgroup does something inexplicable every year at this time.  As if the upcoming Eating Holiday weren’t enough, they all get together and have a little Potluck Eating Celebration all their own beforehand.  Volstagg would definitely appreciate what is essentially Gorging Practice.

The human female has volunteered to contribute “Smashy Taters and Gravy.”  No, really!  That’s what she wrote on the sign-up sheet.  Knowing that she is a  s-l-o-w chef at the best of times, she has wisely set her alarm for “sparrow fart” (again, her words) and risen much too soon after going to bed, in order to have time to work through multiple pounds of potatoes.


I think I’ll lurk about and see if she needs my assistance…  (Sigyn volunteered to help, but I have let her sleep in a little.  *If* anything interesting happens, I can easily wake her.  Also, the human female is not properly awake, and Unfortunate Kitchen Accidents can happen at any time.)


(poke, poke, poke) The potato is certainly an undistinguished-looking vegetable!  She says this is something called a “Russet,” but how one is supposed to tell one variety of lumpy brown tuber from another I have no idea.  Gods have better things to do than bother about such Solanaceous  trivialities.

The first task, after washing all the potatoes, is to peel them.


Of course, I could do it all at once in a flash of magnificence and magic, but menial work is good for the human female.  It builds character.

Now we must cut up the potatoes.  I do not really trust the human female with sharp things this early in the morning, so it is a VERY good thing that Sigyn is still asnooze.


Oh, so many potatoes.

To be continued…

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    1. Well, then! The next time I find a nightmare beast of pale, shriveled, ancient potato in the back of the pantry looking like something out of an H. P. Lovecraft novel, it is all yours! Eat it up–I insist!

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