Taters!

She’s bumpy and oddly shaped, often times covered with a film of dirt. She prefers the dark, the underground areas. She’s like the slightly stinky kid in class who keeps to herself but gets all her work done on time. You think you know her—she’s simple and hard working, maybe a little bland. And then one day your eyes open and you see more than the poor ugly visage, you see the potential within. She’s no ugly groundflower. She’s silky and soft, complex, sexy and worldly and, dammit, you want to take her to the prom.

Maybe it’s because we love the underdog, or a good Cinderella story. Whatever it is, the world’s love affair with the potato is long and far-reaching. According to the 5-A-Day cult, the potato is America’s favorite vegetable, followed distantly by empty-headed lettuce and onions. We most like to eat our spuds baked, mashed, and fried, in that order. Consuming around 126 pounds per person each year proves that for most of us, she’s a safety date. We’ll take our mashed with butter and salt, and our fries with a side of ketchup (or catsup, depending on your pedigree).

But then there are those of us who can’t have casual meals. Our relationships have to go deeper, we need to explore all facets, to see if the plain girl has a secret drawer filled with kinky fun. Considering the beauty of ice-cold vodka, satiny vichyssoise, and the addictive chip, I’d say the potato has been asked to dance a few times.

Like most late-bloomers, the potato’s road to popularity has been hard won. The Incas knew what they had: a hardy food source that could be grown in harsh conditions and used in many ways. Praying to potato gods, they used the tuber to measure units of time, heal broken legs, and prevent rheumatism. Having sacked the Incans for their treasures, the Spanish toted the potato back to Europe unaware of its true potential. In fact, the spud was ill-received by most Europeans. The misguided French believed them to cause leprosy, the Scots couldn’t find their mention in the Bible, and others saw their familial relation to deadly nightshade—and on that ground refused them as human sustenance. Sir Walter Raleigh, a potato cheerleader, gave some plants to Queen Elizabeth I, whose cooks threw away the ugly bulbous root section and prepared the stems and leaves. The result was horrendous, and the vegetable was banned from England for many years.

But the Irish were more sensible—or perhaps desperate. Raleigh introduced the potato to Cork in the late 1500s, at a time when the country was war-torn and struggling to feed itself. Quickly becoming the darling of farmers, the potato’s popularity was supported by the sheer volume it produced. The potato yielded more nourishment per acre than any other Irish crop. By the 1800s, the potato was the national food, so much so that some of the poorer counties relied entirely on it for survival. By 1840, the potato had done its part to grow the country’s population to eight million. While some foresaw the dangers of so many people depending on one crop, nothing was done about it. The blight which caused the Irish Potato Famine wiped out potato crops for five years, beginning in 1845. Almost one million people died from starvation or disease, and another million left the country seeking a better life, by and large in the New World. They brought their potato recipes with them and forever changed a new nation.

Back in the Old World, the potato was still seen as a food for prisoners or the poor. Then the humble spud found its European Prince Charming: Antoine August Parmentier of France. A prisoner of the Prussians in the Seven Years’ War, Parmentier was rationed three squares a day, which consisted solely of potatoes. He returned to his native land to find his countrymen starving, but incredibly still offended by the thought of eating potatoes. Like a Dr. Doolittle of the veggie world, he set about glamming up the image of our starchy girl. He resorted to shrewd PR tactics: He convinced Marie Antoinette to wear potato blossoms in her hair, which created a fashion stir. He stood guards around his potato crops by day, so that the peasants would steal them at night, thinking them precious enough to covet. He threw elaborate potato-themed dinners, which notables like Ben Franklin attended. Slowly but surely, the potato came up from the cellar and danced with other members of fine cuisine—in soups, gallettes, soufflés, aperitifs, and other dishes across the continent.

There’s no doubt that the potato has again come into her heyday, with the food renaissance of the last few years. Tater Tot casserole may have been edgy and new at one time, but now seems pretty pedestrian, as we seek Yukon golds, purple Peruvians, Russian fingerlings, and ruby crescents—spuds that go way beyond the traditional Idaho russet. Due to its many versatile properties — waxy, fluffy, starchy — this tuber can be put to the test by many different chefs in dozens of ways. She’s out on the scene as tarragon potato puree, rosemary potato bread, potato dumplings on many street corners from every culture, as well as in the potato pancakes under some of the best caviar in town. Even good old mashed potatoes have recently been seen on menus as smashed, crushed, and smooshed with accompaniments from chipotles to curries to wasabi. Watch out, the girl has gone crazy! If you doubt that the potato is the “it” girl of the hour, just try to be an Atkins devotee, and see if you can avoid the belle of the ball. If you truly look at potatoes, you’ll see that, like delicate snowflakes, no two are ever exactly alike, each is unique in its beauty. Deservedly so for this Cinderella story, gone from reviled to revered over the last 400 years.