Roasted potatoes have special charms you’d be hard-pressed to find in mashed or baked potatoes. No matter how hard you look. No matter how fond you are of them.
Maybe, because of this, a strange, roasted potato mania is causing them, out of the blue, to pop into my head at all hours of the day and night.
Like at 5 in the morning when I awaken from a nightmare craving roasted potatoes with smoked paprika.
Like right after breakfast when I can’t blame it on hunger but find myself daydreaming of greasy, chicken-fat-drowned potatoes roasting with an entire chicken in my oven.
Or like when someone has something important to say and I have no clue what they’re talking about because all I can think of is tossing hot potatoes with feta cheese and lemon juice. I’m not encouraging these random thoughts. I swear.
In order to put a stop to this potato craziness I caved in a if-you-can’t-beat-them-join-them-kind-of-way. When I spied Irish potatoes for the first time in my market I became convinced this was no mere coincidence. Now, it was a situation.
Me + roasted potatoes = fated. As a result no less than 15 pounds of them are now in my possession. Along with a bunch of recipe ideas crowding my mind.
The first idea put to rest? Greek potatoes. Roasted with extra-virgin olive oil, oregano and thyme then tossed with lemon-marinated feta cheese and parsley.
The bite of the lemon is undeniably delicious if not unexpected. Between the bright, pungent flavor and the warm, saltiness of the feta cheese combined with those hard-to-forget roasted potatoes they are awfully hard to stop eating.
When you do you might wish for more. You might even go make more. Right then and there. Without hesitation. To test the recipe. Again. Oh, wait, that wasn’t you, that was me. Maybe I should change my name to Potato Girl. Roasted Potato Girl.