Russet Baking Potato Whole Fresh, Each

I wasn’t ready. No one is ready… for a russet potato of this magnitude. From the moment I laid eyes on this dirt-dusted, rugged tuber, I knew my life was about to pivot harder than a rom-com heroine in the third act. First, the weight. This potato had heft. I picked it up and felt like I was holding the hopes and dreams of the entire Midwest. Then came the baking. I lovingly cradled it in foil, whispered affirmations, and placed it in the oven. Ninety minutes later, I opened the door to what can only be described as a divine experience. The skin was crispier than my ex’s texts after I ghosted him. The inside? Fluffier than a golden retriever in a bounce house. I added a dab of butter—boom. A sprinkle of salt—transcendence. A dollop of sour cream—spiritual awakening. By the time I reached the bottom of that potato, I was no longer the same person. I had ascended. Side effects may include: Spontaneous bursts of gratitude Potato-induced sobbing Whispering “thank you, Idaho” into the night I came for dinner. I left with a purpose.

Out of the last two orders only one potato was firm and fresh. One was old with several cuts. The other two had rotten sections which had to be cut out. Either the shopper for my delivery doesn’t know how to pick fresh potatoes or they are instructed to “get rid” of the old and blemished ones on unsuspecting delivery customers. This is why I limit my fresh produce selections. You are never assured of a good fresh item when picked by someone else.