Today Mom and Susan and I ate lunch at Conestogas Restaurant in Alachua, Florida. Usually, after Mom gets her hair cut, she and I eat at The Great Outdoors Restaurant, but enough is enough.
As I glanced at my baked potato, doused with two pats of melting butter, I asked Susan, "Did I ever tell you the 'exploding potato' story?"
"I don't think so," she said. "Tell me."
"No, I'll blog about it today." So here goes the story.
Back in the '80's my family drove to Cedar Key, Florida to have a final farewell dinner for a fellow who had come from Pittsburgh to help construct stained glass windows for a church Advent Glass Works, Inc. was building. We chose The Seabreeze Restaurant, the same one Susan and I ate at this past Wednesday.
Once seated, we scanned the menu and ordered our meal, of course the heart-of-palm salad was the starter. I gazed out of the restaurant's windows watching sea gulls land on hurricane-battered docks and watched pelicans skydive into the gulf after fish. It was so relaxing being away from home, smelling the gulf breeze and feeling my hair being touseled in every direction.
Finally, the main course was placed on our table. Broiled fish, scallops, crab claws and a huge baked potato. I lifted my knife to cut the baked potato in half, and when I put the knife to the potato . . . KAPOW!
Hot potato exploded out of that potato skin, into the air, onto my hair, into my eyes and all over my blouse. Needless to say, I was stunned and embarrased. Then I grabbed a napkin and began wiping off my blouse, my eyes stinging with hot potato. "Are you alright?" Truett asked. I told him I was fine, but someone at the table said, "No, you're not. Your hair is covered with potato. Go to the restroom and get it out." So I did, keeping my head down from gawkers at the other tables.
I managed to eat the rest of my lunch, turning down an offer for a fresh baked potato. "No thank you," I mumbled. As we left the Seabreeze Restaurant that day and were standing at the cashier's desk, I noticed baked potato scattered on the floor. "Wow! That was a big explosion," I thought.
I suppose someone forgot to prick the baked potato before putting it in the microwave. I sure learned a lesson that day about microwaving potatoes!
Always prick!
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