Anyone who knows me knows that potatoes are very important to me -- an essential part of my being, in fact, because half of my body weight is probably made up of potatoes. So, I figured that it was time to publicly declare my love for Solanum tuberosum. Here is Elizabeth Barrett Browning's Sonnet 43, changed to reflect my undying devotion to potatoes.
How do I eat thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee when you’re mashed and boiled and fried.
My fork can reach, when potato soup is out of sight.
For breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and ideally, with gravy.
I eat thee far past the level of the daily suggested serving size.
My most obvious need, by the sound of my stomach growling.
I eat thee freely, as intelligent people reach for less starchy options.
I love thee purely, but also with cheese, sour cream, chives, bacon, ranch dressing, poutine-style, rosemary, ketchup, garlic, and pretty much any other savory topping.
I eat thee for the holidays, in excessive quantities.
When I’m happy, when I’m sad, and generally, whenever you are available to me.
I eat thee with a level of love that is typically only seen at weddings.
With the rest of my plate, which is also filled with carbs (macaroni and cheese and bread, usually). I’ve loved you from the start, potatoes.
Sweet, loaded, sliced -- for all my life; and, if God choose.
I shall but love thee better after death because there are definitely, 100 percent, without a doubt potatoes in Heaven.
In conclusion:
