We mined over two pounds of amethysts from the earth this weekend.
I knew the first purple potatoes were ready when, upon harvesting some squash, I noticed that a set of potato vines had withered and largely separated themselves from the roots. So out they came.
Varied in size but not in their deep purple color, the fresh potatoes nearly filled our large colander. The timing was perfect as well: it was already late on a Sunday and I needed a carbohydrate to serve with a grilled chicken dinner.
Potatoes are usually cured outdoors for a few days before consumption or storage, but these begged to be savored fresh. Like last year, with the large russets we ate freshly-dug, these purple potatoes were pillowy soft and delicately nutty in flavor. Once gently cleaned, they glistened and glinted like deeply colored gemstones.
All they needed was 15 minutes of steaming, a pat of Plugra butter and a finishing crunch of sea salt.
The curing hardens the skins, which protects and preserves these jewels during winter storage. I’ll do so with the rest of our harvest. I found it odd that only one set of the purple potatoes were ready, but did not question the wisdom of Mother Earth. We dug carefully but thoroughly so as not to disturb the others. There are three more mounds of purple potatoes with hardy vines still going strong, plus a row of red potatoes and another of Yukon Golds maturing beneath the earth.
As an aside, the meal was a real farm-to-table last grasp of summer with volumes of just-picked produce: I grilled the pattypan squashes that I was picking when I discovered the potatoes, herbed-up the chicken before my plants die down next month and served some of the last corn on the cob of the season. But the nights are arriving earlier and growing colder. School began two weeks ago. I fear there’s not much time left.
I knew the first purple potatoes were ready when, upon harvesting some squash, I noticed that a set of potato vines had withered and largely separated themselves from the roots. So out they came.
Varied in size but not in their deep purple color, the fresh potatoes nearly filled our large colander. The timing was perfect as well: it was already late on a Sunday and I needed a carbohydrate to serve with a grilled chicken dinner.
Potatoes are usually cured outdoors for a few days before consumption or storage, but these begged to be savored fresh. Like last year, with the large russets we ate freshly-dug, these purple potatoes were pillowy soft and delicately nutty in flavor. Once gently cleaned, they glistened and glinted like deeply colored gemstones.
All they needed was 15 minutes of steaming, a pat of Plugra butter and a finishing crunch of sea salt.
The curing hardens the skins, which protects and preserves these jewels during winter storage. I’ll do so with the rest of our harvest. I found it odd that only one set of the purple potatoes were ready, but did not question the wisdom of Mother Earth. We dug carefully but thoroughly so as not to disturb the others. There are three more mounds of purple potatoes with hardy vines still going strong, plus a row of red potatoes and another of Yukon Golds maturing beneath the earth.
As an aside, the meal was a real farm-to-table last grasp of summer with volumes of just-picked produce: I grilled the pattypan squashes that I was picking when I discovered the potatoes, herbed-up the chicken before my plants die down next month and served some of the last corn on the cob of the season. But the nights are arriving earlier and growing colder. School began two weeks ago. I fear there’s not much time left.
No comments:
Post a Comment