Yea, though I walk through the valley of the calorie counters, I shall fear no tuber, for thou art with me. Thy crisp and thy mash, they comfort me.
Oh potato, humble root of the earth,
Blessed art thou among vegetables.
Versatile in form, holy in hash.
Baked, fried, scalloped, or smashed —
Thy mercies are many, and thy carbs eternal.
Thou requireth no fanfare —
A robe of foil, a pat of butter, and behold: transfiguration.
Where others wilt in the fridge, thou endureth.
A prophet of pantry stability, a sage of second servings.
Who among us can deny thy resurrection as leftover home fries?
Who dares blaspheme against thy golden latkes or funeral hot dish?
For thou art the body of brunch, the soul of supper, and the sacred snack at 2 AM.
Surely russets and reds shall follow me
All the days of my life,
And I shall dwell in the house of hash browns forever. Amen.
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