MORE POTATO MADNESS

I’ve been thinking about spuds again, and the local Vons had these red white and blue potatoes – all-American and patriotic, though I understand there may be other countries in the world that have red white and blue in their flags

I started by boiling them.  And you know, even before I started I knew those blue potatoes were going to be a problem. I’ve cooked them before in “potato medlies” and I know they always cook faster than the other types.  And if I’d had my wits about me I’d have tossed them into the boiling water later than the others.  But I didn’t.  Call me a fool.  And then I sautéed them in goose fat with rosemary. Other than the blues being a bit soggy, they were pretty darned good, if I say so myself.

And then I saw something concerning that TV series The Deuce, the one about sex and porn in New York in the 70s.  Having seen some pornographers at very close quarters, it seems to me that Maggie Gyllenhaal is not the most convincing pornographer (pornographeuse?).  James Franco on the other hand is quite sleazily credible.

One of the show's writers, Richard Price, has been spreading the word that Campbell’s potato soup was used on camera as a substitute for semen.  He says, somewhat ironically, “I guess it took the stress off multiple takes of the ‘money shot’ although there was a certain risk in regards to excessive starch. I wonder if it boosted sales of canned vichyssoise in Times Square.”

           It seems to me there’s plenty enough real semen in the world without having to use fake stuff.  There’s long been a semen cookbook, and I discover there’s now a semen cocktail book.  Ah me.  I wonder if they're using soup on this cover shot.

So obviously I went out and bought some Campbell’s cream of potato soup. And really it was so bland that it didn’t much taste of anything at all, which I suppose was the whole point as far as the makers of The Deuce  were concerned.

On the other hand it did have all those little chunks of potato in it (one still had a bit of skin on).  I suppose it was somebody’s job on the set to pick out those chunks.  Oh, the glamor of the movies.