These are, according to the supermarket, "marvellous misshapes". I beg to differ. While nobody could be more in favour than I am of any initiative to present food realistically and - dare I say it - naturally, and in the interests of reducing waste, I'm not convinced that these decidedly uniform potatoes really qualify as misshapen. I'm inclined to wonder whether this might be just another example of consumerism commodifying a genuine concern. It would not surprise me in the least.
Oh well, never mind.
Topping up the wormery this morning I come across this curiosity; a potato I've left to chit over winter, experimentally, hoping perhaps to be able to plant it in the early spring.
Left entirely to its own devices, and the little blighter's making a jolly good go of things. Let's take a closer look
The mysterious and perhaps even sacred beauty of life is here, bursting from a shrivelled potato, the likes of which inspires me to use adjectives I'm not sure really exist. The word "spangly" forms on my lips. A spangly potato. Those shoots, with - can you see - embryonic new potatoes forming on them? I can't even find a sound that describes them. I gaze, idly enough, in silence and wonder.
This is just what life does, without us.
And, a whole world away, in many senses, supermarkets.
Celebrating Roast Potatoes
Indoor Potato Harvest #1
Failure, hope and potatoes
A Potato's Progress
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