Spuds for National Potato Day

Urban garden. Our spuds grew quite happily and blight free in containers in the yard this year, we have Charlotte and Roosters, planted for educational purposes, true we won't yield a tonne of them, but we will have created a food memory and will be able to say in kid-like talk 'Remember the one time', which is about holistic as it can get really.Once is enough to spark that moment of experience of sowing, growing and harvesting your own produce, and potatoes deliver the goods especially when grown in the yard as they can be 'hoked' up washed and in the pot cooking within minutes.

Country living, I've lot's of previous convictions on the charge of spud liking. At an early age they, apart from being staple diet, were an important source of income through long summer days to icey cold starts in late october. Gathering spuds was always good craic, it was our 'Vendange' and allsorts met on the field and your tally of bags or boxes a competitive count off at all stages of the day. Cash at the end of the day or week was the reward,and usually spent on new clothes.

I was lucky in my later teenage years to get a mix of the work involved with potato production through my uncle Bernie and cousins the Henry family. From planting and gathering to the final bagging for sale to the merchant: a four person job; one graping the stored potatoes onto the riddle for sorting {the riddle had different sized grade settings for market preferences} two at the riddle removing any bad spuds {this was the most important bit as the merchant would pre-order a couple of tonnes and, at any point of loading the lorry, untie a bag to check the spuds. If he was unhappy with the grade then that was it,all would be rejected, off loaded and the riddling process would have to be redone. That would have been Soul destroying!} and one person removing tying, stacking and replacing the bags as they filled. As the day went on and you tired, the target set for the day became a killer. By evening I was glad when the end arrived.

Hard work but satisfying and rewarding, with the warmth of the aunt Sarah's kitchen, a pot of stew and a steaming plate of spuds with fresh baked soda bread, a weekend bake of tart, cake and buns by the range. I'd just started a catering course at that point and for my benefit aunt Sarah would offer comment on the latest bakes, noting a particular batch of pastry being short on texture or crust on a bread having got caught out on the vagaries of the 'Aga'. That was an education in baking for me and a bonus to the happiness of a job well done round the table, cash on the nose for me and disco time later.