Tater Salad

I made some Saturday - tater salad, that is.

Depending on where in this country you claim to have been born, you might say "poe-tay-toe" salad. Had I pronounced the word as "poe-tay-toe", I would probably have been called "uppity". After all, if "tater" was good enough for my grandfather, it should be good enough for me.

My grandfather LOVED taters - mashed taters, fried taters, baked taters, and even bald taters (yep, bald - as in bald eggs, bald water ...). My family had lots of taters in its background. Being from southwest Virginia, I figured that had to do with the family's somewhat Arsh roots (that would be Eye-rish to some). My grandfather also loved bisskits, which one of my cousins declared were made from flare. Is it any wonder I talk strangely?? 

Back to tater salad ... during all my adult years as a gourmet chef (ok, just an average cook!) I've had the chance to connect with the virtual world of recipes and found that there have to be at least 1,423,785 recipes for tater salad. Well, maybe not that many, but you get the general idea, and I had NO idea that such thought went into the variety of ingredients with which one would/could use to make plain ole tater salad. My grandfather would have been flabbergasted ... or worse. He probably would have wondered what in the heck my mom-ma had put on his plate and refuse to eat it. I must confess here that I NEVER called my grandfather "grandfather" ... he was always pop-pa.  Which you've probably already guessed since my grandmother was mom-ma.

It's hard for me to separate tater salad and my love for tater salad from my family roots. In other words, I haven't used nor do I think I'll ever use a recipe for poe-tay-toe salad. I don't measure out ingredients and I don't use herbs or vegetables whose name I can't pronounce. I cut up a pan full of taters, cook 'em til they're done, and add stuff like Miracle Whip, a little onion, some celery, sweet pickles, a mater (if I have one - and that might be a toe-may-toe to some), toss it around and sprinkle on some salt and pepper. Every once in a while I get a wild hair and throw in some dill to change things up a little. I've never had complaints, so I figure I'm doing ok making it without the benefit of a recipe.

NOW ... if I could only figure out what kind of flare my cousin used to make her excellent bisskits ... I've already ruled out petunias.