As an addendum to yesterday’s “Corn Dog!” article, after that event, I was on the phone with a good neighbor. Mrs. Appalachian Irishman was sitting in a kitchen chair, tapping her foot on the floor. She was itching for me to get off the phone, so that she could kiss me and then, as her main priority, go to “check on” her Dad. He -- with sister-in-law, our niece (back again now), the “catdog,” and three cats -- lives three miles away. Go, dear, go, I motioned! She jaw kissed me and rolled on, while I was still trying to wind down the call with a long-winded neighbor! Now that’s just funny!
So, “what’s this mashed ‘tater war,” you ask? I’ll tell you! While Mrs. Appalachian Irishman was making certain, absolutely certain, that her Dad was fine, as he was, my youngest brother sent me a text -- which was too late for dinner or too early for supper -- stating that he was eating mashed potatoes and that I was not.
The challenge was on!
So, at the appropriate supper eating time, I took the above photograph of my plate, placed on an edge of the kitchen cabinet top. Mrs. Appalachian Irishman sent my youngest brother the photograph, in retaliation! Payback accomplished!
You know. I wonder. Why do all these people on “Farcebook” post photographs of food that they are about to it? It’s just silly to me! Eat it! Don’t photograph it! Don’t post the photograph on “Farcebook!” Please stop it!
Of course, as an Appalachian Irishman, raised in northeast Tennessee, I eat mashed potatoes almost every day! By my Irish roots, I wish that I could have some form of potatoes (e.g., hash browns, baked, mashed, etc.) at every one of my usual three meals a day!
“What is a “catdog,” you ask? Well, ask, and I’ll tell you!
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