About

What is spud lust you ask? Generally, it is a love for all things potato. Specifically, spud lust is a common breakfast menu item served on river trips I take with a small group of funhogs known as the Why Be Normals. (Long story: I may get to them one day). Spud lust: potatoes, boiled a the night before then fried in copious amounts of olive oil with onions, garlic, whatever spices look good in the spice kit, served with scrambled eggs, lots of cheese, and salsa.  Spud Lust tastes best on a wilderness river beach in Oregon, Idaho, or Arizona whilst admiring a row of wooden drift boats pulled up in the sand. That said, river drifting is not really my intended focus of this blog. I hope to focus on food, farming, localvorosity, friends, my love for life in the Pacific Northwest and hopefully soon to be realized move out of the city and into agriculture.

preferred vehicle: wooden drift boat that is older than I am!

So, back to potatoes: what can I say? I have cousins with the good Irish name of Rankin, perhaps that is why I so love potatoes. Boiled, baked, fried, mashed, it is (as we say on the West Coast) all good. I have been told that it is a waste of time to grow your own when you can get a 20 pound bag of Idaho roasters for 5 bucks. Don’t believe the hype. Our backyard grown spuds have been one of the most satisfying crops we have produced. My personal favorite? The french fingerling La Ratte. When baked in the oven tossed with olive oil, salt and pepper until puffy and toasty brown the light yellow flesh just melts in your mouth. More likely my mouth unless you move quickly. One of my favorite words is scrabbling (really, scrabblin’), the act of digging for new potatoes with your hands. Hard scrabblin’ is a euphemism for tough times, like digging for small potatoes in heavy clay. Hardly worth the effort. Unless the potatoes are french fingerlings….

So, this blog will I hope chronicle my efforts to grow my own on my small urban lot in Oregon, where I tend fruit trees, vegetables, chickens and honeybees with the intent of honing my chops for real farming down the road, in addition to finding those rare but lovely metaphorical (and real) potatoes to get us through these hard times. Trying to up my quality of life, and worry less about my standard of living. And of course, eat as well as I can.