The Realtor is, by trade, a realist. In a single sweeping glare he can take in your home-its tightly wedged bookcases, its fully stocked kitchen, its 165 million dinosaurs-and see this: clutter.
Clutter, he insists, doesn’t sell. And his business is sell.
Gamely, you straighten up. You square heaps of mail into stacks. You crack apart the 48 pieces of Our Solar System and cram the atomized universe into the black hole of the puzzle cupboard. You pace the kitchen, snapping at blender and mixer and microwave: backs against the tile wall. These efforts earn you that tight-lipped smirk perfected at the leading schools of realty.
Not what he had in mind. What he had in mind is this: storage. You gasp. Then reach out to cover the ears of the smaller furniture.
Soon you find yourself stomping through the rain, tying cardboard placards to the curbside maples. Signs that drip POLICE ORDER. As a soon-to-be ex-resident of your ward, you are entitled to a residential extravagance: the personal no-parking zone.
A no-parking zone soon fully parked by a heaving moving truck. Not that you are moving. Your clutter is.
Four men, four hours and 54 boxes later, your home seems relieved. You encounter walls you had forgotten. You discover a room previously dedicated to closet duty. You find patches of the sparse desolation featured in the “Hold Everything” catalog. You don’t need to hold everything. Your storage corral already does.
Some time after the police order has expired and the dust pterodactyls have landed, you wonder about the contents of those 54 boxes. Presumably nothing important.
Storage, you concede, isn’t all bad. You have long admired the storage potato, harvested at first frost, cured and held cool through the winter. The storage potato has thick skin, dense flesh and the perseverance that keeps us all in hash browns and pierogis through the off-season.
But warm weather offers an alternative: the new potato, that darling Ping-Pong ball turned up early. The new potato flaunts delicate skin, creamy texture and, when gently boiled and tossed with butter, innocent charm.
Suddenly, it seems like the right moment for new potatoes. And, given that you can’t find a thing in the kitchen, a new potato pot to go with.
NEW POTATOES
Serves six
3 pounds tiny new potatoes
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
1/2 cup snipped fresh chives
1/4 teaspoon coarse salt
1/4 teaspoon freshly ground pepper
1 tablespoon salt
1. Wash: Gently rinse potatoes clean but don’t peel. New potatoes are best “jacketed,” as the English say; or, as the French would have it, “en chemise.”
2. Melt: Melt butter, stir in chives, coarse salt and pepper. Set aside.
3. Boil: Settle potatoes in a large pot. Cover with cold water by 1 inch. Add 1 tablespoon salt. Bring to a boil, lower heat, cover and simmer until tender, about 12 minutes. Check by piercing a potato with a fork-it should be easy work.
4. Toss: Drain potatoes in a colander. Return potatoes to the pot, over low heat, and shake gently until dry, about 1 minute. Pour in butter mixture and toss gently to coat. Serve warm.
