Last night we dug up the potatoes. We had roast potatoes with our dinner.
I am mad about digging something out of the ground, or picking it off a bush, and eating it right away – how different is this from walking up the supermarket aisle between rows of packaged products to shop for a meal!
Our potatoes grew in a 1m X 1m raised bed. My father gave us the kit bed – it was quick to erect because the planks just slot into one another.
We filled the bed with soil and used hay from the guinea pig hutches.
The first year we grew strawberries. The strawberries took some maintenance and weeding and needed covering with a net to keep the blackbirds off. They produced a sparse but tasty crop.
This year my partner planted seed potatoes. They flourished with no attention at all. The plants burgeoned into a lush green canopy over the bed and baby blackbirds played in it.
Now we’ve harvested an overflowing bucketful from this little patch.
Our potatoes look newborn, with fresh smooth skins and a pink blush. They are beautiful.
My partner cooks a weekly roast and had asked at the nursery for a good roasting potato. We think they’re Kennebecs. But there are so many potato types in Tasmania we get muddled. Whatever they are, they make delicious crispy roast potatoes. My mouth is watering at the thought.