The Great Roast Potato Challenge

The Great Roast Potato Challenge 

“Aww!” He said. They always said aww. Tilted their head to one side, knitted their eyebrows together, upturned their mouths. She knew what was next. “Well, I know we haven’t spoken in a while but you’re welcome to spend it at my house. My mum makes the best roast potatoes”. 

Everyone thought their mum made the best roast potatoes. 

It was mad, how many people were happy to open their doors to a stranger. And she basically was a stranger. He was wearing a cap and stripy long socks, but she couldn’t remember his name. Should she? School felt like a lifetime ago. He looked like a George, but could easily be a Josh. 

What if she said yes? Did any of these people want her there? What if she hated the roast potatoes?

She thought back to all the offers she’d had. There was this guy, George or Josh. Then her neighbour who always smelt of onions (at least that one would be convenient – although admittedly with fewer obvious excuses to leave). There was Hello Kitty lady from her short story class (she had a lot of Hello Kitty stationary), Mr Young from the corner shop (that dude was old) and her half brother Robert. A bunch of strangers with roast potatoes. 

She had a thought. What if she did a test. Went to all the houses on offer. Tested the potatoes. The Great Roast Potato Challenge. 

It could be fun. Better than being alone on Christmas. 

She arrived at the first house bang on midday. The door opened and her eyes immediately started watering. Onions. For some reason, Onion Queen thought this was an emotional display of affection and pulled her into an enormous hug. 

Christmas dinner was a strange affair. The potatoes were good. She’d never had them with fried onions. She learned, during the meal, that Onion Queen smelt of onions because she owned a burger van. “The secret is onions”, revealed Onion Queen. No kidding. 

Onion Queen’s potatoes got 7 out of 10. They were good but she took 3 points off for onion breath. Luckily, she kept a stash of mints in her car. 

Next, Mr Young. He was practically one hundred years old, so liked to eat early. His house was nothing like she’d imagined. She always pictured old people’s houses to be beige. His was a rainbow. Pink and yellow and turquoise from top to bottom. One wall in the living room was entirely coated with record covers. Mr Young was cool.

So were his potatoes. He’d perfected his timings but then realised he’d forgotten to do the parsnips. Everything sat on the side gradually losing heat while he popped the parsnips in the oven. His potatoes got a 4 of out 10. “Ah well, they were only Aunt Bessies”, he revealed, a cheeky glint in his eye. She left him to nap and promised she’d return soon. “No rush”, he said, through snores. “I like my own company”.

House number 3 was easy to find, due to the Hello Kitty baubles hanging on the tree outside. She rang the doorbell twice, but no one answered. When she let herself in, a party was in full swing. This was Christmas, vol-au-vent style. 

The roast potatoes were like nothing she’d ever experienced. They were served on little cocktail sticks with pieces of pineapple. Inventive, yes. Soggy? Absolutely. 

She was running late to house number 4, so made a hasty exit. She bumped into Hello Kitty Lady on the way out. “Cruella!” Hello Kitty Lady screamed. “Hello Kitty Lady!” She screamed back, slipping out the door. She gave Hello Kitty Lady’s roast potatoes 5 out of 10. They deserved lower, but she liked her new nickname. She imagined it was something to do with the spotty fur coat she often wore to her short story classes. 

Her half brother Robert’s was a traditional affair. She arrived as they were sitting down to eat. “You’re late”, he said, and checked his watch. “At least I showed up this year though”, she replied. His mouth twitched. She knew, somewhere deep down, that he was pleased to see her.

The table was overflowing with food. She could barely find the roast potatoes. Robert’s husband kept trying to pass his “infamous sprouts”, which he made by frying and adding bacon. She didn’t think she liked bacon enough to eat the sprouts. Annoyingly, the roast potatoes were the best she’d eaten so far today. Crispy on the outside, fluffy in the middle, seasoned with salt and pepper and rosemary. She begrudgingly gave them an 8 of 10. Almost perfection, if it weren’t for the whiff of sprouts being constantly shoved under her nose.

She was incredibly full, but knew that George or Josh was expecting her. She rang the doorbell, dreading the awkwardness that was bound to follow. Instead, she was greeted with a warm smile. “I’m so glad you came”, he said. “My mum’s been eager to meet you”.

As she was passed around the house, it became clear that everyone thought she was someone she wasn’t. She cornered him in the kitchen. “Why is everyone being so nice to me? Did you tell them I’m your girlfriend?” 

He went red and spluttered, looking down at his stripy socks. “No, it’s not like that! They all just really wanted to meet you”. 

“Why?” She asked. “We’ve barely spoken since school. Are we even friends on Facebook?”

“Yes! I always like your photos”. Oh. How awkward. She hadn’t even noticed. “I just used to talk about you a lot and… well. I was into you at school. I thought you knew”. He looked up at the mistletoe hanging above them. She finally got it. He’d watched too many Richard Curtis films. He wanted a Christmas romance. 

It was sweet, but she wanted roast potatoes. As she sat at the table and bit into a steaming hot spud, she valued his honesty. His mum really did make great roast potatoes. The chestnuts were a nice added touch. But they needed salt. 9 out of 10. 

When she got home that evening, she turned on the oven and pulled a few potatoes out of the cupboard. She sliced, sprinkled with salt, pepper and a little flour, and put them in the oven.

The great roast potato challenge had been fun. She’d befriended a neighbour. Abolished a stereotype. Gained a new nickname. Pleased a sibling. Found an admirer. Eaten lots of different types of roast potatoes. But, as the oven timer pinged and she sat down to eat, she couldn’t help but think that the best roast potatoes were the ones she made herself.