United Nations declares 2008 International Year of the Potato

If someone were to ask me what three foods I would want if I were stranded on a desert isle, I would choose avocadoes, chocolate and pizza with pesto, feta cheese, sundried tomatoes, black olives, and pineapple. (Hopefully there would be the occasional shipwreck of an Indian vessel, so that I would be able to enjoy some naan, saag paneer, chana masala, tarka daal, dhosas, idli sambar and baigan bhartha as well.) And if there was a deep-fryer on the island I would sneak potatoes onto the list, since they are one of my favourite foods. I like to attribute this to genetics, given that my father's side of the family is Irish. This probably makes no sense from a scientific standpoint however (although my garden leprechaun disagrees). Even if food preferences are encoded in our DNA, potatoes were only introduced to Ireland in 1589 and I doubt the Irish would have evolved that quickly. Moose lumbered into Algonquin Park 11 thousand years ago but their population still hasn't evolved to the point of developing any resistance to the Brainworm parasite. If you believe all the jokes about the Irish* they wouldn't be able to do anything faster than a moose, or anything better than one for that matter (except possibly drink one under a log).

When potatoes were first introduced to Europe the populace shunned them. They were believed to cause leprosy, syphilis, scrofula, narcosis, sterility and rampant sexuality, although hopefully not all in the same person. Their poisonous reputation wasn’t helped by the banquet Queen Elizabeth I threw for some of the local gentry, which featured potatoes on the menu (perhaps, tiring of her virginal reputation, she was hoping for a postprandial orgy). Unfortunately, the cooks threw away the tubers and served the leaves and stems instead, which are poisonous. The tubers can be poisonous as well. If you notice any green under the skin it indicates the presence of solanine and chaconine, which are related to strychnine and almost as toxic. Potatoes probably spawned resentment as well as fear, due to the fact that bullies like Prussia’s King Frederick William ordered peasants to plant and eat them or he would have their noses lopped off.

Potatoes have come a long way from their misunderstood youth (admittedly a Eurocentric perspective – the Andean farmers had a great appreciation for the potato as far back as 7000 years ago). During the Klondike gold rush potatoes were worth their weight in gold because of their vitamin C content. Perhaps the Chinese labourers who helped build the Canadian Pacific Railway should have been given part of their meagre pay in potatoes, so that fewer of them would have died of scurvy. Today the potato is being hailed as the food of the future: they are nutritious, require relatively little land for cultivation and can withstand harsher climates than many other crops. Aside from their value as a foodstuff, they can be used as a peaceful weapon of resistance. One story has it that during the Soweto uprising in 1976 some youths painted a potato green and lobbed it at an armoured vehicle, causing everyone in the vehicle to leap out and flee. The youths then commandeered it. (Although potatoes are not a fruit, perhaps it would have been helpful if the South African police had studied Self-defense against Fresh Fruit as part of their training.)

Several years ago we did a family trip to Vancouver Island. In Tofino a number of people live on houseboats, since that’s the only local real estate that’s affordable for the average non-millionaire. I went on a kayaking trip one day and the guide mentioned that a friend of his had just moved his houseboat to the foot of a glacier. How wildly romantic, I remember thinking. Thoughts of wild romance and houseboats brought up memories of Dal Lake in Srinigar, Kashmir. At dawn the shikara would glide up and lure us from our red-velvetted Rajian splendour with promises of flowers, tea, jewellery and delectable Indian treats. We could do a similar thing in Tofino, I remarked to my younger nephew, who like me is a potatophile. We could get a boat, christen it The Spud Bucket, and sail around from houseboat to houseboat selling Belgian fries with gourmet dipping sauces (a nautical version of the divine Pommes Frites in New York).

Yet here I sit, still an unentrepreneurial landlubber, The Spud Bucket resting in the drydock of my dreams. But I have a bottle of vodka I keep in a drawer, ready to launch her when some irresistible sunset beckons…


* Two Irish hunters got a pilot to fly them to Canada to hunt moose. They managed to bag 6.

As they were loading the plane to return, the pilot said the plane could take only 4 moose.

The two lads objected strongly. "Last year we shot six. The pilot let us take them all and he had the same plane as yours." Reluctantly, the pilot gave in and all six were loaded.

However, even on full power, the little plane couldn't handle the load and went down.

Somehow and surrounded by the moose bodies, Paddy and Mick survived the crash. After Climbing out of the wreckage, Paddy asked Mick, "Any idea where we are?"

Mick replied, "I think we're pretty close to where we crashed last year."