This evening I ate latkes for the first time. They were imperfect, based on a hazy recall of a recipe, and made by three totally drained people. They were delicious, and certainly they fed me body and soul.
Now I need to make them. I have these wild ideas about sweet potato latkes with chile verde and lime cilantro sour cream.
More importantly I have leftovers.
It occurs to me that part of the essential character of the evening hinges on my interpretation of J telling me that I ought to bring a baking potato for each person and maybe one extra. I asked what sort of potato to buy, and she said that she didn't know but probably a baking potato.
I showed up with five potatoes therefore. Five large potatoes. Almost twice the amount of potato that J thought she was asking for. There were a stupendous number of pancakes on the table tonight. Only a stupendous number of pancakes could have ensured that there were leftovers. Four hungry adults can eat a lot of latkes.