I’ve had various obsessions over my lifetime.
For example, Dr Kildare, Robert Redford, David Essex. Even a pucklie in real life.
I’m permanently obsessed about losing weight and trying to grow my hair – never happens. Of course, I’m bewitched by my children and grandtoots. But not until recently have I become completely, daftly infatuated with… tatties.
Started at the end of last month, when my loon and his wife took me to that posh seafood place in St Andrews. On the way home, stopped at a wonderful farm shop, the first thing I spotted was this huge basket of Jersey Royal potatoes. Nectar of the gods – so sweet and earthy – only available a few short weeks in May, yet here they were at the end of April.
Vowing to buy some after our breakfast, I devoured my delish full Scottish, then spotted huge, deep red strawberries and lamb shanks positively bleating to be bought. Me being memory-challenged Mo, I was in the car and awa’ afore I realised I’d forgotten to buy the darling Jerseys.
Shshshave-a-bandy! No matter. They were obviously on the market early this year.
On the way home, I suggested we take the coastal route, keep our eyes peeled for farm shop signs, or maybe even little notices at the side of the road. I was that desperate, even willing to howk my ain! A’ the wye to Aberdeen, sadly, zilch.
That night, in my dreams, I’d visions of those tiny boulies of tatties dancing before my eyes, each one slathered in butter. Oooh, and chives. Had to have them.
Next day, I peched up to Tesco, set to buy them and half a hundredweight of Irish butter. Sod it, no Jerseys yet. Undefeated, I doon to my reliable Lidl. Not a Royal in sight. So, how come St Andrews had tons o’ them? Bad show, Aberdeen.
Plain-Jane baby tatties won’t do
By now, I was willing to sell one of my kids for this Scarlet Pimpernel of a potato. But hold hard. My Asda delivery soon due, I on to the website and – hallelujah! Extra Special Jersey Royals. Two packs of 450g for £2. I ordered four. Drooled aboot them a’ night, and what I’d have with them.
Woke to my usual Asda emailed receipt, showing any changes and… Oh no, Mo. Yup, some plain-Jane baby tatties substituted for my JRs – and a huge bag o’ them at that. Honest, I near grat. Onwards and upwards went my obsession.
A couple of days later, I’d try Lidl again. Scoured the tattie section. Nuh. Then – oh, my Lord, no – this tub of little Royal blue baggies. My hairtie thumped. Could hardly totter hame fast enough with my four.
Lunch with ham salad, and opened the first bag. Spik aboot gads sakes! Most of Mo’s delicacies, rotten, soggy and smelly. The rest in the pongy bag really had to be chucked as well. Checked the other three, all OK. Just be careful fit you wish for in the tattie department.
Moreen Simpson is a former assistant editor of the Evening Express and The Press and Journal, and started her journalism career in 1970
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