FTJ, Entry 140: Sure and Begorrah, Them's a Lot of Spuds

It is 8 pm, and I am in a food coma. I am SO stuffed with corned beef and cabbage and carrots and potatoes and soda bread and cake. I was in such an eating frenzy the green plastic beads on the table were staring to look appealing. And gads, now I am paying for it. (Perhaps the Romans, with their alleged vomitoriums -- or would that be vomitoria?-- were onto something.)  

Anyway, the St. Patrick's Day dinner here at the RV resort, put on by Ruth and Kay and their husbands, Carl and Ron, was amazing. Great, great job. And such a bargain at $5 a person.

But one little thing: You have perhaps heard of the Irish potato famine? Well, we had the opposite problem. The potatoes somehow reproduced in the kitchen, to the point where I wondered if this was a St. Paddy's Day version of The Day of the Triffids -- you know, the sci-fi novel about highly reproductive plants taking over the world (that was also the basis of an infamous "Star Trek" episode)? 

It was.... The Night of the Taters. People kept eating them, and yet their numbers never diminished. In fact, they multiplied several times when we weren't looking. I think I saw a few moving furtively toward one another in the chafing dish, actually.

Okay, enough silliness. It was a wonderful event, made possible by a lot of hard work in a very hot kitchen. THANKS SO MUCH Ruth, Carl, Kay, and Ron.

Some photos commemorating the event:

The community room looked great before the hordes descended.

A wonderful shot of Ruth and Beau.

Kudos to the chefs! They worked so hard--and it paid off.

Ron and Kay prep the cabbage. When I asked Kay to go easy on my cabbage portion, she just looked at me and deadpanned, "Farts?" Well, I never! What nerve!  (But how did she know?)

Sound the dinner bell!  (Have you ever seen senior citizens at an all-you-can-eat buffet? It ain't pretty, folks.)

Beau liked Kirk's shirt.

I think this woman was suffering from glycoalkaloid poisoning, brought on by overindulging in potatoes during the tubers' annual St. Patrick's Day reproductive frenzies. No, really! It can happen. Look it up.  

Park manager Cheryl made the "pot of gold" cake. Yummy.

Thanks again, Ruth and Carl. (I was trying to gain that last 10 pounds, and I think your dinner did the trick.)

So, yet another great evening. And guess what? We got to take home some leftovers. And guess what they were? Yup...spuds.

Where's the Pepto? I bet I dream about The Attack of the Killer Potatoes tonight.

Tanks, Panky