You see, growing up with a father who was a farmer, you never knew when he was going to show up at the house or call Mom up and tell her he needed all of us girls to come help with who-knows-what on the farm. I always hated it. If my sisters were here, they would testify with numerous detailed examples of how I tried to avoid work on the farm (or just work in general). Every spring, my Daddy would say those words I dreaded to hear - "We're going to pick up potatoes after lunch today." This meant trekking through my grandparents' garden, racing to pick up potatoes out of the dirty, muddy soil after my grandfather plowed up the potato plants. I think about this now and realize that it wasn't all that difficult of work and it could've been fun - "See how many potatoes you can pick up" or "Who can pick up the most the fastest", but instead all I thought about was dirt - under my fingernails (which I didn't really have much of because I was a nail-biter), in my tennis shoes, all over my knees and clothes. Now mind you, I was not and am not a prissy girl. I broke each of my arms as a child by climbing and falling out of a tree and then by falling off of a horse. I wasn't one to care much about what clothes I wore or how I wore my hair, and I certainly wasn't a very neat kid. So who knows why the whole dirt issue bothered me, but it did (kind of like how sand bothers me now at the beach... but I digress...).
One particular day when Daddy called to say it was time to pick up the potatoes, my sisters and I loaded up and headed to the garden between my grandparents' house and the farm's shop. Pawpaw ran the plow through the ground and those potatoes began peeping out of the rich, damp earth. My sisters and I reached to grab them and put them in five-gallon buckets. Often instead of walking to a bucket, we would toss the potatoes to the person closest to the bucket, or just chunk them at the bucket when Daddy and Pawpaw weren't looking. Well, I was grumpy and dirty, when my younger sister Amanda and I began arguing. I am sure that I was bossing her around, like a good big sister should do. :) After I said some unkind words to her (which I can't even remember), she chunked a potato at me. That potato was ROTTEN, y'all! Like an oozing, slimy, black kind of rotten! That slimy, rotten, stinky potato hit me square in the face. Stunned, I stood there analyzing what just happened to me and then scrambled to try to get my hands on her. I don't think I ever caught her - the Lord knows that I am not the fastest runner in our family and after all, running required more effort than I was probably willing to put forth at that time. I had the rotten potato smell inside of my nose for a week after that!
So, tonight I am making oven-baked fries because I have some potatoes that I am afraid will rot before the next time I will be able to use them. Every time I wash and slice up a potato, I think back to all of the times we picked up potatoes as kids and who could ever forget getting a disgusting rotten potato smashed into their face?!?!
Here's how I make oven-baked fries...
You'll need:
2-3 potatoes (I usually use 2 large Russets for my family of 4)
Non-stick spray
3/4 tsp. salt
1/2 tsp. sugar
1/4 -1/2 tsp. paprika
1/4 tsp. ground mustard
1/8 tsp. garlic powder
1/8 tsp. ground pepper
-Wash and slice potatoes into wedges - try to make them not so thick and keep the thickness uniform, so they will cook evenly. Place on cookie sheet/pan.
-Mix spices together in a small bowl.
-Spray the potatoes with non-stick spray. Sprinkle with spice mixture. Bake at 425 degrees for about 25-30 minutes. (Until golden brown and easily pierced through thickest slice with a toothpick.)
*Before baking*
These are one of our favorite side dishes and they are easy to make, plus they are a healthier version of the typical french fry. I hope you enjoy them and may you never know the smell of rotten potatoes!!! :)
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