During WW1, my grandfather's unit had run out of food when they came upon a German farmhouse. The woman of the house proceeded to boil a big pot of potatoes and share them with the men. Decades later, my grandfather related that this meal was the most memorable of his life. Perhaps a starving man will find gratitude in any meal.
A tiny bite from A. E. Housman seems appropriate here among the toxic potatoes:
There was a king reigned in the East:
There, when kings will sit to feast,
They get their fill before they think
With poisoned meat and poisoned drink.
He gathered all the springs to birth
From the many-venomed earth;
First a little, thence to more,
He sampled all her killing store;
And easy, smiling, seasoned sound,
Sate the king when healths went round.
They put arsenic in his meat
And stared aghast to watch him eat;
They poured strychnine in his cup
And shook to see him drink it up:
They shook, they stared as white's their shirt:
Them it was their poison hurt.
--I tell the tale that I heard told.
Mithridates, he died old.
I have always loved this poem. The last two lines are so quotable! Potatoes seem like mild fare, compared to strychnine and arsenic.
Not to mention compared to kale and brussel sprouts !
During WW1, my grandfather's unit had run out of food when they came upon a German farmhouse. The woman of the house proceeded to boil a big pot of potatoes and share them with the men. Decades later, my grandfather related that this meal was the most memorable of his life. Perhaps a starving man will find gratitude in any meal.