At the grocery store, I found a package of mixed-color new potatoes. I love new potatoes, and thought the tri-color mix would be fun.
I simmered the potatoes with a bit of butter and rosemary, and loved how their colors deepened. The yellow fingerlings became a deep gold, the purple turned a dark indigo-black.
We sat down and and I served dinner.
Riley rolled a purple potato around with his fork, “Mom. Are these potatoes burned?”
“No,” I said. Deep breath, and I broke into my informative, positive voice. Potatoes come in many colors, and only may possibly, just a tiny bit, taste a little different. All the different colors are pretty, aren’t they? And that’s why we are trying them. Because they are good. And, no, those are not burned, just purple. Isn’t that neat? Purple potatoes, which are just like white potatoes, except…purple! Big finish with calm, firm smile of leadership.
“So….,” Ri looked at me to clarify, “they’re gay potatoes?”
“NO RILEY. They are not HOMOSEXUAL ROOT VEGETABLES! ” I was laughing so hard I barely heard his next comment.
” Jeez, Mom. It’s not a big deal. They’re just like regular potatoes. I think you’re being a little judgmental, don’t you?”