For the years I've lived in New York City I was one
of the loyal denizens of the Union Square Market -- Monday, Wednesday, Friday
and Saturday -- rain, shine, snow, and bitter winds. I readily admit the market
is one of the best shopping destinations in the city and I am a rabid exponent
of the foods you can find there. My calendar it set to the comings and going of
the stuffs that can be gotten there. Tender, crisp, thin asparagus; flats of
violets and pansies waiting for fresh earth; blushes of vibrant chervil grown
to perfection on the northside of oak trees are absolute signals of spring, the
time my palate and everything else seems to come alive again.
By mid-August I am chomping-at the-bit waiting for
the first new potatoes. Not the golf
ball or larger sized ones we all use but tiny marble sized beauties. I excitedly dig through baskets filled to the
brim to get to these gems that always seem to end up on the bottom -- Yukon
Golds, Red Bliss, Purple Peruvians -- none are safe from my probing hands.
On one particular visit a farmer spied my working
through her large heap of potatoes and asked me what was wrong that I had to
search so deeply. I explained that my
expedition was not just for potatoes, but for the exclusive and elusive
marble-sized ones. With a hearty laugh, and a look like I was half cooked, I found
another pair of hands mining for those starchy nuggets. After we managed to retrieve about five
pounds worth I thanked her dearly for the help and indulgence. Of course, the big question was what do I do
with these special spuds. Well, since it
was the beginning of the season, and my desire to eat them great I gave her my
simplest application. That is, I just
toss them with virgin olive oil, coarse salt and black pepper, and then roast
them in a hot oven until they are crisped. Then I eat them like popcorn, I
said. The following week she had already
pulled five pounds waiting for my arrival ....and so it was for the many years.
My curiosity about these starchy tubers went beyond
rummaging around the market for the smallest first-of-the-season harvest, but
who are they? There are French and Russian fingerlings, German Butterballs, the
blushing Desiree, and the always dirt encrusted Corolla. After years of knowing
what to expect to find, and what the possibilities were someone new arrived to
the party -- Papa Amarilla. The
particular variety is a South American native that looks more like a waxy
potato but will work for you like a starchy. The most exciting part of the
discovery is that it tastes like chicken! I had never before tasted a potato
with such a deph of flavor that required very little to bring it to the table.
I was smitten.
I was celebrating one of those birthdays that ended
with a zero, and decided it was the year to treat myself to an adventure I had
always dreamed of – a sail through the Galapagos Archipelago. Ever since I was
a little guy when my Dad I spent Sunday nights bonding, watching Mutual of
Omaha’s Wild Kingdom I have dreamt of visiting all the places Merl took us to weekly.
My eight day jaunt through these islands was one of those expectations that was
even better in reality. Ecuador is home not only to the theory of evolution but
my latest obsession, the Papa Amarilla. I knew the potato was a native of the
Andes Mountains of Ecuador and Peru, and since I was going to be in the
neighborhood I could not pass up the opportunity to stop by for a visit. I put
together an intinerary that had me traversing the Avenue of Volcanoes down the
center of the country stopping in towns on their market days. My first market
was in Machachi, about an hour drive south of the capital Quito. It was held in
an expansive paved over area of town sandwiched between the railroad tracks and
town central. There was nothing romantic
about it, the market in fact it seemed like a utilitarian necessity for the
town – their Safeway without the brick and mortar. There was much to choose
from: Amazonian oranges, papayas, yucca, plastic wash basins, corn, tomatoes,
onions, toilet paper, and piles of potaotes. I bought a kilo of potatoes and
two rolls of toilet paper. One of purchases I could work with the other I had
to figure out what to do with. In my 9-grade Spanish I got the kitchen back at
my pension to boil up my purchase, which allowed me to have a potato tasting
that night – of course, everyone thought I was just a bit off. But I was eating
a Papa Amarilla right from its native earth.
Curried Potatoes - yields 4 to 6 servings
2 pounds baby new potatoes
1/4 cup sesame oil
2 tablespoons curry powder
salt and pepper to taste
1 large onion - sliced julienne
Preheat the oven to 425
degree. Wash the potatoes, and pat dry.
If your new potatoes are larger than golf-ball size cut them in half or
quarters. Toss with the oil. Sprinkle the curry powder, salt and pepper
over the potatoes, and toss to coat all the potatoes well. Lay them on a roasting pan, and place in the
oven. After 30 minutes distribute the
onions on top of the potatoes, and roast for an additional 15 to 20
minutes. The potatoes should be very
crisp, and the onions caramelized.
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