Yesterday I got a bag of the multi-color potatoes at Trader Joe's -- the kind that has the little potatoes in red, yellow, and blue. I don't usually get those because the potatoes seem to cook at different rates, and the blue ones tend to turn out sort of nasty, but I didn't want to make another stop just to get a bag of monochromatic potatoes, so I went with the multis.
AnnaBeth, our household Potato Queen, was fascinated that not only the skin was variable, but the flesh of the potatoes varied in color. On a good day, AnnaBeth is a true Potato Artist, carefully doling out butter, salt, pepper, perhaps sour cream in amounts that are painstakingly controlled -- the process cannot be rushed. With these potatoes, though, new possibilities opened up.
"Can I get the camera and take a picture?"
Oh, sure, what can be the problem with one picture.
Except, of course, it's never one picture, as she must experiment with macro vs. portrait (who uses portrait for potatoes?), flash vs. no flash, composition. We had at least 5 shots of this.
"Hey, look, do you want to get a picture of mine? I've just cut them open and haven't mashed them up any!" offered Thalia from the other side of the table.
And things suddenly spun out of control.
The cat smelled the roast chicken on the table, and was winding around chairs and legs in a state of High Alert because THERE'S A DEAD BIRD ON THE TABLE AND HE CAN SMELL IT, AND NEEDS TO BE INVOLVED IN IT. The kids are hopping back and forth taking pictures of potatoes in various states.
Up until now I would've viewed a photo of potatoes as sort of serene and zen. Potatoes: so calm, so so tranquil.
In truth, though, these particular photos capture an intensely crazy meal.