Small Potato Novels & Stories

"Alright then. How about we finish this together?" "Sure." I smiled. An hour later, hot potato porridge was served for breakfast. It smelled divine and spicy. I was proud of our creation. Peter appeared with their eight-year-old daughter, Christie, at the table, and we started to eat. She looked exactly like her mother, and what was interesting was that she had her father's messy dark chocolate hair. Christie wiggled in her chair, her voice bright. "I like calling them fairy potatoes. Mama says I'm silly."

Vera said, unwrapping one of the potatoes. Steam rose from it, thick and warm, filling the shack with a smell so simple and impossible that every person in the room stopped moving. It smelled like hot earth, fire, salt, and comfort. The potato skin was slightly crisp, split open where the heat had broken it, and the inside was soft, golden, and fluffy enough that it almost fell apart when Vera pressed her thumb into it. After years of liquid packs, bitter supplements, recycled water, and food that tasted more like survival than life, that smell hit the room harder than any speech could have.

"I need to know. There are certain foods I'm allergic to." He just gave me a look of pure, unadulterated insult. "Potato." The word hung in the air. I looked back down at the bowl. It didn't look like any potato I had ever seen in the grand royal dining halls. It was a lumpy, grayish-brown mush, completely devoid of seasoning, butter, or warmth. It smelled faintly of damp earth and smoke. My free hand hovered over it, shaking violently. The dirt encrusted under my fingernails seemed to mock me.

I thought she was done, and so I nodded in acknowledgement, slipping on my left shoe. "To round out your breakfast, 150 grams of steamed sweet potato cubes - rich in beta-carotene and potassium to aid muscle contractions and recovery. A teaspoon of raw honey drizzled atop provides a touch of natural fructose to top up glycogen stores." I paused, hand hovering just over my right shoe "That's...More than I usually eat for breakfast," I admitted with slightly wide eyes.

“What did you make?” Placing his hand on the middle of my back, he guides me to one of the chairs, pulling it out so I can sit. “Potato and mushroom Stroganoff.” Inhaling the steam drifting off the food, I let out a gentle moan. “It smells amazing.” Plucking up a fork, I stab one of the circular potatoes. It’s clear he’s made this dish before. The potato is thin enough that I can hold it to the light and see through its transparent surface. When I pop it into my mouth, chewing experimentally, a rush of flavor coats my tongue. It’s mild but delicious; saltiness enhances the gentleness of the potatoes without overwhelming them. “Oh my God,” I manage, before scooping up a bigger mouthful, wanti

Annoying! "Anything else you want?" the man asks with a gentle gaze. The pink-haired figure in front of him is eating heartily, especially the fries. Two servings have vanished into her stomach, and her chewing doesn't seem to stop as she digs into the third. Despite being different types, the main ingredient remains potatoes.

"See, I'm never wrong. Not even five minutes in the library and you're already on their blacklist." "I think what you meant was that I attract attention wherever I go," he wiggles his eyebrows, "being this handsome shouldn't be a crime." "Has anyone ever told you how narcissistic you are?" "Haters are going to hate, potatoes are going to potate." "Potate?" I slowly shake my head, "I don't think I've ever heard of that word before. Would you like to explain to me how potatoes potate?" He side-eyes me. "It's a saying. Plus, I couldn't think of a word that rhymes with potato."

Embarrassed of my ignorance, I picked up the fork and began to eat. After a few bites, I realized it's really not sweet potato. It tastes different from sweet potato. And that was really delicious. "Is it delicious?" Tita asked laughingly. Covering my mouth with my hand, I nodded at her while chewing. I don’t know if it’s because it was new to my taste so I immediately liked it. At home, my frequent snacks are cupcakes, pancakes and a variety of pastries. But certainly not this kind. "Slow down, Audrey," Rustov said.

Embarrassed of my ignorance, I picked up the fork and began to eat. After a few bites, I realized it's really not sweet potato. It tastes different from sweet potato. And that was really delicious. "Is it delicious?" Tita asked laughingly. Covering my mouth with my hand, I nodded at her while chewing. I don’t know if it’s because it was new to my taste so I immediately liked it. At home, my frequent snacks are cupcakes, pancakes and a variety of pastries. But certainly not this kind. "Slow down, Audrey," Rustov said.

I stood at the stove. The potatoes I was frying up were turning a delicious golden brown as I flipped the cubed pieces around. We were opening a little late today and it gave us the rare opportunity to eat together. Since, it was my turn to cook, I decided on a simple Cubano sandwich with potatoes. Solaris had made horchata earlier so that would be added as well. The plates were already set out on the bar counter and I was finishing up then potatoes before doing a final assembly of the sandwiches.