I'm the planner and the executioner in my house. I'm queen and maid in my kitchen. Yet, when it comes to cooking a new dish, I always ask Hubby what he thinks.
Yesterday, as I dug furrows in the garden to plant favas- a new breed from Italy given to me by a visiting seed guru from Portland who wanted to know first if I liked favas, then, if I wanted to experiment with old fashioned purple ones- I dug out tiny potatoes I had planted two years ago!
I also found some cime di rape, and tiny pea pods.
I was shocked and pleased and took the potato fingerlings gingerly, not sure how and if to prepare them at all. So, I asked Hubby, who is the potato master, how he wanted them cooked.
"Creamed, with peas and tiny onions!" He said, licking his lips.
"Creamed?" I inquired, incredulous, hating the idea of fussing with potatoes.
So, I took his suggestion. Boil, mash a little, add cream and butter, add peas, and serve. Not hard.
The hard part was cooking the foundlings. The bigger ones, brownish in color, never cooked. The smaller ones, tiny whitish ones, cooked in no time.
I served them with grilled salmon steaks, and sauteed cime di rape, which, incidentally, tasted divine with the cream sauce.
Hubby's plate was licked clean.
He'll return to the furrows and try to unearth some more.
