Ready for a history lesson?
The Potato Famine ravaged Ireland from 1845 – 1852. A vast majority of the Irish were entirely dependent on the humble potato for food, so when potato disease struck, the results were catastrophic. Approximately 1 million people died and a million more emigrated from Ireland. The effect changed Ireland’s cultural landscape forever and is one of the most important periods in the country’s history.
The War of the Bavarian Succession, also known as the Potato War, was fought in the Prussian region in 1778. In comparison to others in this period, this was a minor skirmish with most casualties resulting from soldiers starvation.
2012, and the latest Potato Battle is in full swing in my own home. My husband Henry hails from the Small clan of Geebung. Clearly a family built on the steady tradition of washing one’s potato prior to peeling. I am from noble Harsley stock, and despite our pedigree, we like our potato’s dirty and get straight down to business. Peel first, then wash.
In all seriousness, what began as a bit of a joke and some gentle mocking has now escalated to a being a real issue, with threats of divorce and worst of all, The Cranky Face.
I took this big issue to the people (facebook) about a year ago and the results were mixed. Many never knew of their potato bias until that time and I shudder to think of the amount of homes which began their own Potato Battle that night.
It got me thinking this afternoon about the crazy things that we all have a thing about and how the beautiful union of two lovers in domestic bliss can be shattered so suddenly by washing the dishes the “wrong” way, or putting dirty clothes straight in the machine instead of a basket.
Where do we get these “things” from and what “things” am I passing onto my children??
I remember making rissoles one evening not long after Henry and I moved in together. He asked me why did I start by soaking slices of bread in stock? I wasn’t quite sure why, that’s just how you make rissoles. Right? So I rang my Mum to ask why she did it. She wasn’t quite sure either. We then asked my wise old Nanny, the monarch of the family to reveal the truth. Her simple answer was that when she was young they couldn’t afford much meat and padded out their rissoles by adding slices of bread.
Ha. What a complex breed our domestic species can be. I’m a lover, not a fighter. So from now on I declare we will be a pasta and rice family. And if Henry wants potato he can bloody well peel them himself, crazy potato-peeling fool!