Spuds

Last night, after taking baked potatoes out of the oven, I was reminded of my Dad. He was a skilled baked potato "dresser" and had his technique down to an art form. First, he would gently and methodically karate chop down the hot potato, still wrapped in foil. Then, he'd flip it and do that again on the other side. After that, he would roll the potato out of the foil and onto the dinner plate. The tenderized potato would then receive a slice down the middle and a good smash from either end. After that, he'd slather it with all the fixin's. I remember that his potato always looked better than mine too. Sometimes, he ate the skin, sometimes, he didn't. It's funny what we remember about those we care about, sometimes, huh? I like the surprise of it too. It's like an unexpected little gift, the gift of a memory.