When Dinner Looks Back At You

This afternoon I got into a rare domestic mood and cleaned! Then, as if that wasn’t enough, I decided to actually cook something.

I had a huge chicken breast in the fridge and red potatoes in my pantry. I even had vegetables for a great salad. Hubby will be pleasantly surprised.

First thing, I needed to chop the breast into four pieces (that’s how large the thing was!). Then I got out .the Jamaican Rub I bought in town at the flea market.   I rubbed olive oil into the chicken then rubbed the rub in. I wrapped them up to marinate. I was feeling pretty proud of myself for getting a head-start on dinner instead of my usual M.O. of late – to whip up any old thing I had around.

Next, I got the 5-lb bag of potatoes from the pantry. Funny, but I bought them two weeks ago, and there were already “eyes” peeking out from the air-holes in the plastic bag. When I let the potatoes roll out of the bag and into the sink, I screamed and jumped back. I know I will have nightmares about all those hideous evil eyes looking up at me in a sinister way. I should have chucked them all and made rice, but those who know me understand how stubborn I am. Besides I wanted roasted potatoes cooked on the grill, so maybe I could sit and relax for just a few minutes. It never happens, but as an optimist I keep planning it.


Every single potato had large bulging eyes, and on top of those, more bulging eyes. There were so many eyes the potatoes looked like they had spiny flowers growing out of them. The flowers were greenish-red and hairy, but I knew it wasn’t hair. I could not bring myself to touch them.

I stood there at the sink , staring back at my dinner, debating whether I should wash them first, or start hacking out eyes. I washed them first, after all they were already in the sink.




Then with my trusty chopping knife and a potato peeler, I managed to find 5 potatoes that had more potato than eyes. After cubing them and mixing with butter and garlic salt, I double-wrapped them in foil. I cleaned the hacked up remains from the counters and handed the plate of chicken and the foil-wrapped potatoes to hubby to BBQ.

I’m sure that hubby enjoyed eating those potatoes, way more than I did. A true case of “Ignorance is Bliss”.

Moral of this story? Do not buy potatoes in bags. Pick potatoes one at a time.  😉