Back in April I planted some potatoes.
They duly came up and filled the container with a riot of green, leafy plants, which I fed a diet of dishwater and what sunshine may come when the Pacific Northwest is having One of Those Summers.
Today, a couple of the plant-tops were yellowing and pretty well finished, so I dug down and lo! Spuds.
Feeling around elbow-deep in dirt and encountering the smooth, round firmness of a Real Potato That I Grew Myself is...well, very, very satisfying.
Fresh from the earth. My hat is off to real food stylists, who know that the silverware needs to be polished before it's ready for its closeup.
Ready to pan-fry. Rosemary: from the garden too.
My little dinner.
So how was it? Tender, creamy, delicate little Yukon gold potatoes, crisped on the outside in piping hot olive oil with some sea salt, some black pepper, and the slightly-charred rosemary bits. Delicious.
I call it a win. A tiny, tasty triumph.