(photo courtesy Epicurious)

I just want to crawl in between one of those lucious, buttery layers and get all snuggled in there like I am in a giant quilt of potato love.

I found the above picture in my recent issue of Bon Appetite'. You can find the recipe here.

And, um, I won't lie. When I opened the magazine and found this picture I gasped, sat up in my seat, and then I licked the page a little. But if it makes you feel any better about my sanity I also maybe sort of did the same thing to a recent photo of Javier Bardem. (Sweet Spanish hunk of burning love...)

My love for the spud (and apparently Javier) can be slightly irrational at times.

I could eat them all day, every day. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, snack. In my sleep - on the treadmill - lying in the couch watching Lydia Bastianich take a bite of her creation and rock her head back and forth in approval.

Mash them, fry them, chip them, bake them, gratin them, stuff them - tie them up in a dirty ole' shoe lace - I don't care. I love them.

I remember when the Atkins Diet Craze(y) started and my friend Laura told me all about this new way of eating. I was perplexed by all the animal fat she was want to consume, and then when she said "...and no potatoes..." I gasped and reached out and slapped her face. And then I stole a piece of her bacon and ran for the hills.

One of my favorite ways to eat a potato is in the fashion that The Grandfather used to make them. The salted water was already boiling when we would arrive at his place, and then he and I would run out to the garden and unearth a few waxy skinned gems. We would wash them a little or not - that was a long time ago. We weren't so concerned with things like pestacides and odd alien particles in our soil. I am pretty sure I consumed a fierce amount of dirt in those days.

Anyway, then he would give them a nice boil until just tender, and pour off the water. And right in that copper-bottomed pot he would throw a slug of butter, fresh parsley from the garden, and a good portion of stone ground mustard. Then he would put the lid on the pot and give it a good shake.

I would be sitting at the table with a couple of forks, and he would plop that pan right in between us and we would dig in, until The Grandmother would slap hands (with a smile) and tell us to get a plate like the rest of the civilized world.

SO. GOOD.

Nothing at all to do with food. Nothing.

But I saw this and I fell in love and I want to sit with her and talk more about life, and the fate of Obi Wan.

And then I want to share a grilled cheese.

Question Of The Day at The Restaurant:

"Are there a lot of clams in the clam chowder? I love clam chowder, but I don't like clams. If there are a lot of clams can you please pick them out for me so I don't have to do it?"

Well of course. And why don't you let me pick up your dry-cleaning and give your car a nice wash and wax.

*sigh*

The day started out pretty normal for me - I spilled something, swore, got in the shower, dropped my shampoo bottle - swore a little more. I know my hairdresser thinks I drink the stuff or use it in soups. I don't have the heart to tell her the stuff I pay roughly $5698.00 an ounce for goes mostly down the drain.

I really don't have the heart to tell The Husband that little tidbit, either.

So the day was on course for normal average every day for me. Right down to the point where I spilled hot tea on my bootless foot.

...little pause here... did I tell you I quit coffee? I know, right? I live in The Coffee Capital of All The Universe. And I come from people who drink coffee that looks like motor oil. But I quit, kind of out of just forgetting to drink it, and kind of out of not being able to find the perfect cup in NYC. (Please - no letters. I am funny about my coffee...) It started out innocent enough, I was too sick to drink coffee. And then on Day 2 Sans Java I had the headache to crush all headaches and realized it was part dehydration, part caffeine withdrawal. Someone was nice enough to retrieve a cup for me from the place on the corner of 56th & 6th in Manhattan... the National retailer... rhymes with “Harshucks”...

And - the coffee? It was crap. I don't know if it was just me or all the puking or just that the barista was having a bad day - but it was bad. And I just never looked back. At first I kind of forgot about it, being all entranced with Bergdorf’s and all, and when I got home it just became a game. And then my worst fear came true - I didn't miss it. Not the taste, not the smell - not the sound of a whirling coffee grinder - nothing. I was over my love affair with java, a truth even to hard for me to believe. And I realized I had no other option but to start satisfying my needs by drinking green tea and keeping it a secret. My people would never understand, never forgive me. Green tea and me - we're secret lovers - we're on the 'D-L', just tea kettle whispers in the darkness.

But I have found that hot tea feels the same when hot coffee hits a bare foot. It's all just hot liquid mocking me in its cascading folly.

So, anyway, I spilled the tea. Cleaned it up, put on my new trench coat and was on my way. I had a long list of things to conquer; A Trick meeting (amazingly normal), a stop at the market (amazingly without all the crazies) and a stop by the tax man (not amazingly still a bastard).

And all through my travels I kept hearing this noise - a noise I attributed to The Car. The poor, poor car. And I shrugged it off by turning up the volume on the radio so that I could sing about rehab along with a woman who not only needs some rehab; she could use a big sandwich and a new pair of shoes.

It wasn't until my ride home that the flippity flappity flop started to concern me. Was I dragging something? An animal? A child? The Air Mattress I ran over on the freeway? So I started leaning all over The Car, as if I was The Car Whisperer, so I could listen close and see if I could telepathically understand the issue. And when I leaned toward the glove box I realized just exactly where the noise was coming from - it was the damn belt from The Trench Coat - hanging out my door.

I drove all over that day, both to and fro, and every dang time my belt was hanging out my door. Did it occur to me to tie the belt? No. Did it occur to me to check that the belt was on my lap? No. It was just there - hanging out my door like a sad sock that didn't quite make it into the top drawer.

So if you saw someone driving like a manic all over the freeway with her trench belt flapping in the wind - that was me.

And if you actually saw someone like that and you could swear that person was eating French Fries and drinking soda pop from a National Fast-food Chain - rhymes with "Lack-Ronald’s" - then that was not me.

Really.

I swear.

Yeah, I know. 12 days.

This should give you some indication of what the last 12 days have been like.

We set up a meeting with a girl back in January. She had to postpone for a work issue. Then we had to postpone for a work issue. Then it was all set to roll. She called the day of the meeting and asked if we could push back 1/2 hour. Which worked out great for us. We've been - busy. Insanely so, in fact. The Restaurant - planning for the Big June Rush, Tricking, etc. etc.

So she shows up, we start talking, and she starts nervously biting her lip. "I have to be honest", she says. "We really do not have the budget for a caterer. My aunts are going to do the food, and we are keeping the ceremony small, it is at my parent's place. And the reason I am telling you this is because I had a meeting with another caterer, and after they gave me the bid I told them I would not be having a caterer, but I wanted to see what the process was like to sit and get a bid for my scrapbook they were kind of mad I wasted their time. So I sort of figured you would be mad at me for wasting your time. But I just think it would be really cool to have catering bids in my scrapbook."

I said nothing. I just sighed deeply and closed my notebook. Before I could speak she gathered up her things and walked out the door.

I looked at The Partner, and without any explanations necessary we both said, "Thank God." Whether or not she was telling the truth, or was lying to cover that she already had a caterer, or just was a Cheerleader at Crazy High School in Crazy Town, it just didn't matter. All we cared about was that we did not have to risk having her as a potential client.

We dodged a bullet. One of many in the last week and a half...

You never really know what you are going to get from a person until you sit across the desk from them. Phone meetings mean nothing - really - because everyone seems reasonably sane when planning a meeting.

No - it really isn't until you sit face to face that you get full value of what you are dealing with. And then it's too late to run - you just have to deal and play nice until they leave and you can lose your biscuits in private.

Dealing Dolly came in with Her Mother with a bright beaming smile ready to talk about her big day. She had a notebook, she had ideas, and she had an open mind to fun and new ideas. And that was a really exciting thing until she stared scribbling notes and folding the piece of notebook paper atop her binder.

"Well this all sounds wonderful. Here is my offer."

It caught me off guard. Offer? Was she going to give me a gift for being such an awesome person? Was she going to exchange my services for something fabulous like a trip to Italy?

No - no - by 'offer' she meant what she was willing to pay. All neatly written and folded with creases on a piece of white notebook paper. She slid the paper across the desk like I used to do in the 4th grade when I was the go-between for Shelly and Jake at what was the beginning of a long love affair that lasted well into recess.

I looked at the paper with what I am sure was a very stunned look on my face. "Is this for me?"

"Yes. That is the offer I am making."

"Offer?" I asked, looking back and forth between Dealing Dolly and Her Mother.

"Uh huh!” she said brightly. "My offer of what I am willing to pay."

Oh dear God she thinks she is buying a car.

"Well. I don't really know what to say."

"Oh open it first; I think you will be happy!"

Only if there's a million dollars in there.

I obliged, not wanting to be a total ass. And as I opened the paper I bit my lip a little to hide the guffaw that was ready to slip its way out of my mouth like a too-hot slurp of soup.

"See, the thing is. That really is not how this works."

"Oh, well. See. I was raised to never take things at face value. I am a girl who likes to deal."

And I am a Food Whore who needs a drink.

"And I can appreciate that. But..." And as I spoke she dropped her head and started writing.

"I was prepared for this. So here is another..."

I held my hand up. And I smiled, shook my head a little, and took a deep breath. "No. What I was going to say was - the price I gave you? It is not a suggestion or something I randomly throw out. It is, well, it is what it is. And I do not mean to sound trite, but, it just is what it is."

"Well I want to work with anyone who wants to work with me. It is not always a right fit - this is a very personal thing. And if we don't mesh - we don't mesh. But the price is the price."

She looked at Her Mother, who tilted her head a little, and began writing again.

I held up my hand, "Really. I don't want to make this a bad experience. But I am not in the business to barter. If you want what we have, fabulous. If you don't - that is ok, too."

She sat with a dejected look on her face. And Her Mother interjected, "Well can we take some time to think about it? And maybe give you time to think about it?"

"Of course you can take time to think about it. But I can tell you that what I have on paper is set in stone. We can create a menu that is comfortable for you. But - the price is just... it."

Dealing Dolly put the cap back on her pen and let out a big sigh.

"Well", she said. "Just so you know we have another meeting with XYZ Catering right after this."

"That's great", I said. "I encourage people to look around - to find the right fit."

"Well I just wanted you to be aware. I think, maybe, they will be more open to my offers."

I smiled, closed my notebook and said, "Well I hope you find what you are looking for. If you have any further questions please don't hesitate to give me a call."

And they left. And I immediately called The Partner to fill her in. And we laughed. Really, really hard. And then we hung up, I contemplated different ways I could beat my head on my desk.

Honestly, people.

*sigh*