...day thought, something that always comes to mind when the fourteenth of February occurs: remembering my dad who insisted he had to plant new potatoes on this date. Even though he was not a farmer in the most commonly used definition of the term, he did enjoy planting things and watching them grow. Whether of an ornamental nature or vegetables for consumption, when he retired and had the time to grow, water and nurture, he took pleasure in the process and product of a well-tended home and landscape.
I cannot recall inquiring as to the necessity of getting the seed potatoes put to bed on that specific date, but assume the source of all planting wisdom, The Farmer's Almanac, instructed thusly. Not sure I ever asked to know why it was essential to have the task accomplished on that particular day, but I know in the years when he did not devote his days to gainful employ, he was quite diligent about attending to his planting schedule. He also planted beans, to enjoy with the new potatoes when they matured and were ready for the dinner table.
The man also had some very strong opinions about tomatoes: you should only eat them with homemade mayonnaise. He grew the ones he preferred, with just the proper balance of acidic to big, fat, juicy. Ordering the seeds from the catalog, after perusing all the choices in the cold, dreary days of winter. Carefully planting them in a perfect mix of potting soil for the best start, warmed in his greenhouse built in the backyard. Then transplanting when the winter days were tapering off into warm sunny spring. Feeding, watering, watching, waiting.
The homemade mayonnaise recipe had been perfected years ago, under the tutelage of his mother. Back in the day when it was all assembled and whisked together by hand. More recently done with an electric mixer, after carefully measuring proportions, slowly blending each ingredient in the proper sequence. And in his later years, assembled ingredients were turned into yellow gold recipe in the convenient blender, again tediously, deliberately pouring the measured oil, salt, lemon juice in slowly reaching perfect consistency for slathering on bread before applying the juicy slice of tomato.
Sorry: I did not have the foresight to take lessons, so I cannot offer to come to your house and make mayonnaise. Personally, I rarely eat it, so if I did make it, most would go in the trash here. Even though my mouth has not had any in over twenty years, my taste buds remember how smooth, tangy and tasty that perfect concoction was. He actually had neighbors and friends request a batch. I don't recall anyone asking for the recipe, but do remember times when he would be making it for delivery to someone who knew how wonderful it was, and had occasion to ask for a taste of the wonderfulness of homemade mayonnaise.
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