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Witn tne advent oi tne men potato skin, the skin itself usurps the central position, that of glory, held unchallenged from time immemorial by the potato matter alone. Potato insiders see this latter development for what it is: a brash and calculated move by potato peels to preempt the strategic high ground.
Small wonder then, given the myriad of options, that we in America suffer from potato type paralysis. Worse, the future promises only to mire us in a thicker muck of choices. As types of potatoes increase we sink ever deeper into the quandary without so much as hesitating before the critical issue of orientation, that is, of determining a basis on which we can choose.
Compare the above dilemma of an average American to that of an Afghani mother. She must decide whether or not to dispatch her children to Pakistan by train in defiance of the Soviet infantry. In her home do potatoes perplex the soul? Well, yes, but her problem concerns not at all the shape of the potatoes (our problem in America), it concerns their existence. Will the children eat potatoes - lumpy and generic of course - or are there none?
Consider now the chic wing of the American potato movement. Enter, the stuffed baked potato. This latest innovation arrives courtesy of those entrepreneurial visionaries who helped America to understand what it always wanted: a meal in a potato, not adja
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