Small Potato Novels & Stories

Trying to ignore it, I remain stony-faced. She sucks in her cheeks. "Don't you want to play, Larry? Never mind. You'll soften up, I'm sure. When you've had some time to think about it." She pops the compact back in the bag, then pokes through the rest of the contents before producing something small, round: ball-shaped. She tosses it at me and reflexively, I catch it. A potato. A small one. Raw. "Don't eat it all at once, Larry. They're quite nourishing, but you'll want to make it last. You won't be getting another one for a day or two... Oh..." She raises a forefinger... "One more thing before I go..."

“Because I didn't want to be that guy, but I could have, considering she doesn’t know a damn thing about pack life. I could have shown off the fact that we could order food from the packhouse and have it delivered.” “I guess that’s fair. What’s the plan this morning then?” “I was thinking of making bacon, eggs, and biscuits but I don’t have biscuits.” “Stop making this complicated. What else do you have in the house?” Bandit asked. “There are a few waffles left. There’s also pasta.” “What about potatoes?” I was honestly stumped if I had any. I walked to the pantry and opened the door. I flipped the light on and walked to where the potato and onion storage was. There I found three golden Yuko

the girl asked when she caught Adam's sweet smile. "Not really. But this is my favorite food. If my mother cooks this, she would definitely send it to the office," the man replied. "Ah, do you like it?" Luna pointed to a container filled with potato liver sauce. "Well, what's its name? I forgot," the girl said shyly. "Potato liver sauce." "Ah, yeah. That's the name. Er, isn't it potato gizzard chili sauce?" Luna's correction. "I don't like gizzard. So mom would definitely skip the ingredients every time she cooked this meal," Adam explained.

“We’ll have mashed potatoes, cheese fries, potato pancakes, potato waffles, and her potato wedges. One portion of each.” “Noted! How about for drinks? I recommend sweet potato milkshake since I made the recipe and I think it’s really good.” The waitress giggled. “Do you want?” Dakota asked Olivia. “Sure.” “And two of that, please.” Dakota then gave the older woman a brief smile. “Roger that! We’ll serve your potatoes in a few.” And she left. “Why did you order a lot?” Olivia asked as she leaned back on her seat and crossed her arms across her chest.

For six-dollar potatoes that healed woman who left husband with one suitcase and toddler. I sold first order myself. Six dollars. Woman in thin coat, like Lena six months ago, with one suitcase, child on hip. "Extra?" I asked, remembering mother's last line. She nodded, crying. I gave extra. Behind me, through window, I saw Damian across street, not in Maybach, not in Bentley, sitting on curb with cheap duffel, eating six-dollar potatoes from paper boat, alone, watching bakery that his insult apartment funded, that his anonymous fifty thousand kept warm.

Then wheat, a dwarf spring variety bred for container growing, and three barley lines. "Potatoes are the awkward one," she said. "True potato seed exists, but it takes longer and gives variable tubers. If you want a reliable crop, you need seed tubers." She went to the back and returned with a cardboard flat of small, certified tubers in a mesh sleeve. "Minitubers, disease-tested. In a cool room they would sprout in a few weeks." "I can keep them cold," Kathy said. "Then I'd take both. Buy the true seed as a backup and the tubers as your first crop."

The table was full of roast chicken, grilled pork chops, and a giant bowl of mashed potatoes with butter. Reese took a big bite of potatoes and stopped chewing. His eyes went wide. "These potatoes taste so sweet," he said. "Like candy. How is that possible?" "Who cares?" Hank said, scooping more onto his plate. "Just eat." *They have no idea those potatoes grew in my god-tier soil in only three days.* I looked down at my plate. I had only eaten half of my pork chop. I pushed the plate toward Wade. "This half hasn't been touched," I said. "Have some more."

Or maybe because she was tired of fighting battles she couldn't win. "The potatoes need to be peeled," she said finally. "Twenty pounds. And the dining room needs to be set. Fifty place settings tonight.....the Alpha is hosting visiting pack leaders Just great. More work to do and more people to avoid. I began working, losing myself in the familiar kitchen labor. Peeling potatoes was meditative, repetitive, and soothing to me. The knife moved in steady strokes, brown skin curling away to reveal pale flesh beneath. My hands knew this work by memory. My body knew it too. I could do it without thinking, leaving my mind free to wander.

"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.

“Is he sleeping?” “He better be,” Dex muttered. “He was up three times last night.” “He’s still tiny,” Nora said, her protective sister Instincts coming out at once. It was an adorable sight. “And he looks like a potato too.” Elian huffed a quiet laugh. “A very dignified potato.” Well, according to their daughter's uniquely absurd dictionary, and her highly advanced crazy kind of mentality, bless her little heart, potatoes were the cutest thing on Earth. And 'handsomest’ was literally the most good looking person too, aka herself.