Unless you count my daily bowl of cereal, this is the first thing I’ve cooked since David was born. Fried potatoes, yummmm…
My dad always ate these for breakfast. It’s a good thing, too, because otherwise I wouldn’t know how to make them, and my husband LOVES fried potatoes for breakfast.
So Saturday morning I broke my cooking fast and cooked four potatoes first thing. Why? Because Tom was out running 20 miles. T-W-E-N-T-Y. So second only to feeding my baby, my top priority is feeding my other baby. This guy.
(He loves close-ups.)
He’s the kind of person who forgets to eat, even after running 20 miles. He did me the sweet favor of signing up for a marathon and slimming down while I was bulking up with some serious pregnancy weight. While I will forget my keys, my address, my NAME, I will never forget to eat. Ahem. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
Here’s a fun fact: my pregnancy appetite DWARFED his running203947milesaweek appetite. Thanks, dear.
So I fry potatoes. This morning I didn’t have to force feed him. He came home hungry (whew).
Instead of eating them right out of the pan he wanted me to cook them with scrambled eggs and cheese, which I thought compromised my perfectly golden-brown tater cubes (remember I haven’t cooked in SIX WEEKS…and now that I think about it, I think I boycotted cooking once I passed my due date, too. Who knows how long it’s been since I’ve cooked. Also, I would like to preemptively silence anyone who’s thinking there’s some sort of association between my lack of cooking and my husband’s waistline. There’s not.)
Eventually I relented. Anything to get more calories in the guy.
Mark your calendars for the Richmond Marathon, Nov. 12. I know at least one potato-loving runner who would love lots of cheering on the sidelines.