A potato is a wondrous thing, isn’t it?
I mean, yeah, it’s just a potato. There’s nothing fancy about it, and it’s not trying to trick you into believing it’s anything more than what it is. More than perhaps any other food on the planet, a potato is at peace with itself, confident in what it is, neither seeking to rise above its station nor bowing to anyone.
A potato doesn’t exhibit even a whiff of pretentiousness in the produce aisle. even the fun little multicolored fingerlings aren’t screaming for attention like the limes and mangoes and strawberries. But by golly, if the in-laws are swinging by for dinner on short notice and the pantry is unexpectedly devoid of potatoes, you’re in a world of hurt. For a lot of the consuming public, potatoes are the Judy Greer of their culinary experience: never the star of the show, forever taken for granted – but absolutely essential to pulling everything together. You can’t seriously tell me you’d order a burger without fries. Or pull the Thanksgiving turkey out of the oven before the mashed potatoes are ready. Or organize a funeral lunch for the family of the dearly departed without assigning someone to smother a panful of spuds with cheese. You simply wouldn’t dream of it.
In a world where garishness and volume are too often conflated with charisma and dynamism, the potato is simply, unwaveringly there.
So it was refreshing in mid-January to drive to Pocatello for the Idaho Potato Conference and be around folks who are genuinely invested in and excited about the so-called “humble” potato. It was a chance to learn more about moisture sensors and nematodes, PVY and mop-top virus, planting and storage. But more importantly, it was a chance to rub shoulders and swap jokes with some of my favorite people in the world. People who – like the crop they were there to further educate themselves about – don’t much care whether they stand out but certainly care about standing firm in who they are and what they do.
The Ball and Belnap families, who are featured here on Ag Proud – Idaho's website, are a prime example of the ingenuity, versatility and out-and-out goodness emblematic of Idaho agriculture and its signature crop.
I grew up in a corner of the ag world defined by bawling calves and creaky saddle leather – a distinction that, dare I say, carries with it a touch of snobbishness. But it’d be hard for even the punchiest of cowboys to not be moved as the rising sun melts off a thin layer of early-morning frost, the spud digger fires up and finds its rhythm, and the earthy-sweet perfume of that beautiful black dirt hits the lungs. It does the soul good. Cliché or no, it’s pretty cool that my license plate unapologetically proclaims that I’m from the same place as “Famous Potatoes.”
I mean, is there anything more worthy of fame?
