Potatoes

To my ninety-seven-year-old grandmother, nothing can be more perfect than a boiled potato. Whenever I make dinner for her, she is, despite her age, always curious to sample whatever new tastes I have brought home with me from my travels. She says it gives her a chance to partake in my journeys and sample the flavors of places she will never see. But, as is so often the case with traveling, the best thing is returning home. When she has finished her serving, she will compliment me, in her mild, generous manner, for showing her something new that she did not know existed. Then she will, with a smile, help herself to a boiled potato, peel it carefully but with surprising speed, and eat it with a big lump of butter. Seeing her contentment as she slowly eats the potato, I realize that no food can satisfy her more.