As I mentioned in an earlier post, the urge to plant potatoes is strong in me, and undoubtedly appeals to the inner Irishman that lurks within me and probably composes 40 percent of my DNA. I decided to check on my modest potato crop today after I noticed my dogs had all but killed one of my potato plants with their frequent canine death matches in the yard.
Though edible and tasty, I think that another 3-4 weeks will be necessary to produce potatoes of the size well suited for baking. The largest of these early potatoes was about 10 ounces, while others were quite tiny. All told this small potato plant produced about two pounds of spuds, which is quite an investment return on the quarter-ounce potato eye from which the plant grew.
Ideally I should store my potatoes for a few weeks in a cool, well-ventilated place without sunlight, but I washed one of these Kennebec whites and microwaved it for a quick taste test. While not the most flavorful potato I've ever eaten, there is a certain pride associated with the consumption of food one grows, and I relished the spudly moment in the late afternoon sun.