It may be my Irish heritage coming to the fore, but I have always loved potatoes. I even like scalloped potatoes although they can begin to approach a level of guckiness which triggers my fine-tuned guck coefficient. A well-baked potato is my favorite though; the kind with the real thick skin. I tried to make these in the slow cooker once but succeeded only in creating extremely well-steamed spuds (which would be a great name for a rock band). The slow-cooked potatoes were fine just not awesome.
Oh and all these toppings and fillings? Sour cream are you kidding me? Let’s put some cream on this potato and we might as well make it *sour* because what could be better? Sour. Cream. My fingers hurt just typing that. Butter maybe, but only thoroughly melted; no congealed little chunks of butter laying there like detritus left over from the Guck Wars. And just because we got lucky with that whole chocolate and peanut butter combo doesn’t mean we should experiment with potatoes and bacon. For god’s sake just leave well enough alone.
Baked potatoes are also the kind of food that improves with age. I can eat a day-old baked potato *cold* and it might as well be manna. I am trusting that I am not the only one on the planet who feels this way because if I am then fetal position here I come.
And while I am in a confessional mode I might as well say … pizza. Day old. Cold. Yum. Deal with it.
whoisfenton 