Happy Monday before Thanksgiving, reader.
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In true haphazard newsletter fashion, I will indulge you with the information that it is Sunday afternoon, and I am currently waiting on some canned potatoes I seasoned and put in the toaster oven.
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Growing up, well, when my mom and I were living with my grandparents, we had family dinner most nights. It was usually meatloaf, some over-boiled veg, and a poor excuse for mac-n-cheese (think elbow noodles with a little bit of margarine and a single slice of off-brand, plastic-wrapped, American). At least, this is what 2-8(ish) year old Julia recalls. I also remember Dinty Moore Beef Stew, Hormel canned tamales, Michelina's frozen meals, purchased in bulk while on sale, Grandpa made spaghetti with Lowrey's, hot dogs, and raw white onions, or his open-faced cottage cheese sandwich on rye with all the black pepper. My mom worked a bunch, but when she made us dinner, it was spaghetti, margarine, raw tomatoes, canned chicken drained and shredded in the can, salt & pepper. For whatever reason, I once protested this meal, and I have a memory of my Uncle Carl trying to persuade me to eat it by telling me this is what he ate when he met the Pope... Regardless, I still make this one, I swap for real butter and add parmesan, but the canned chicken is necessary.
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Now, back to the canned potatoes. This is a "recipe" I learned much later in life. Long after my mom married, we moved out, and a younger sibling was born. I think I was in my twenties, and might not have even been living at home, but on occasion, these delicious, perfectly peeled, whole potatoes would appear on the stove, in my dad's signature round baking pan. I had a hard time not eating every single one of them, and I raved non-stop about how good they were. I never caught my dad in the act of making them, though. What I don't quite remember is what gave me the realization of these spuds' origin, but I do remember texting my dad, completely out of context, saying, "They're canned potatoes." He was confused at first, naturally, what a strange message to receive. He confirmed my suspicion and divulged the previously withheld recipe. (super side note [thanks, ADHD] withheld has a double H) This is the recipe I riffed off of today. I used canned diced potatoes instead, and the toaster oven, because I was too impatient to wait for the regular one to heat up, and then the potatoes took over an hour anyway.
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You might be wondering what I'm going on about. Great, me too. This week's email brought to you by canned potatoes... and me reminding myself that sometimes it doesn't matter if I have anything to say, if I start writing, something might come to me.
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