On Potatoes

Potatoes, for those of you who don't already know, are generally accepted to be the tastiest food known to our proud species. Many people, especially those coming from cultures in which the potatoes is a relatively recent addition to the agricultural and culinary repertoire, may erroneously insist that other foods (usually meats or candy) are tastier. Deep in their hearts, they know the truth.

In the States, we have several varieties of potato, ranging from the crisp Red to the gentle and delicate Yukon Gold. As with all great things, there are impostor quasi-potatoes, such as the "Sweet Potato" and the "Yam." True to our factory culture, we even have instant potatoes, designed for quick and easy consumption of a delicacy defiled. In the very near future (if not already), I am sure we will see some sort of synthetic potato which, due to it's artificial nature, will invariably be a smash hit. But all of these, base or refined, are ruled in the States by the great Idahoan Spud: the Russet.

The Russet is the most common potato grown and consumed in the States, despite it's excessive starchiness, it's deficient aroma, it's unwieldy size, and it's unappealingly bland color. The Russet is a proud and indefatigable tyrant of the American potato realm. Inexpensive as it is, the Russet's dominance in the States seems to be supported by those who prefer to consume life, rather than to savor it. As evidence, I direct your attention to the American term "couch potato," which likens the potato (potato, in this case, synonymous with "Russet") to something bland and tasteless, which usually fails stirs the imagination and depends only the stimulation of the most basic and primitive senses.

Thankfully, there are places in the world where the potato has escaped the cold and tiresome grasp of the Idahoan Russet. In the Andes of South American fame, from whence these tubers came, one can find valleys filled with hundreds of varieties of potato, each with it's own distinctions. Other places in the world had to import this excellent plant, usually introducing one a handful of varieties. (We are all familiar with the horrific results of the Irish depending on only a single variety -- further evidence of the potato's importance.) The French, known for their highly-developed culinary arts, called the potato a fruit (pomme de terre), suggesting the rather elevated nature of the tuber.

In Moldova, I have discovered a culture that has introduced only the highest forms of the potato into their agricultural and culinary cultures. Small, yellow-tinted, and slightly soft to the touch, these thin-skinned and richly-flavored potatoes most closely resemble miniature Yukon Gold. Moldovans usually prepare their potatoes by frying (cartofi prajiţi) or by mashing (cartofi piure). It should be noted, however, that the mashed potatoes are unusually tasty. Lacking garlic, they cannot be compared to the splendor of my mother's mashed potatoes, nor to the debauchery of my 7-potato puree. The excellence of Moldovan mashed (or fried) potatoes rests entirely in their simplicity -- that is, in the potato, itself.

These potatoes are the great artists of the potato world, rivalled perhaps only by certain isolated varieties in the Andes. Boil Moldovan potatoes, and the skins practically peel themselves (unless you are me, in which case you can't peel one to save your life). Fry them, and they produce the most delectable aroma. To bake such a potato would be spit on its glory. Used in pastries and salads, they are the prime attraction. I can only imagine what heavenly delicacy a bread from these starchy spuds might produce.

Indeed, while families and defiant individuals across the USA slowly divine the value of potatoes of such appetizing quality, I bask in the under-appreciated glory of the Moldovan tuber.

I'm a Real Boy... I Mean Teacher!

After an unexpected hiatus for over a month, I now have both the time and the internet connectivity to resume activity on this site. PST became extremely busy during the last four weeks, due in no small part to practice school. This is a time when we TEFL and Health Ed. volunteers are given a classroom full of Moldovan students and three weeks to try to figure out how to teach. Peace Corps does a great job of training us during PST, loading us up with all sorts of teaching theory, creative ideas for in-class activities, books, and an excellent support network. Practice school is kind of like the test at the end, where we find out how much we still have to learn about teaching in Moldovan schools. Personally, I love being in the classroom, and I've found Moldovan students so attentive and so intelligent that I am often at a loss as to how much I really need to teach them.

After Practice School, PST rapidly came to a close with one more week of language training and a Language Proficiency Interview (LPI), in which we all found out how much language we still need to learn. I scored dead center with an "Intermediate Mid" and I'm pretty OK with that, for now.

Now I'm at my permanent site, which is a wonderful town in the center of Moldova filled with friendly people and several highly-remarkable schools. Friendly people can be found everywhere in Moldova, but I consider myself uniquely lucky to have been given the opportunity to teach at the lyceum (roughly equivalent to high school) in this town. The teachers are all top-quality, and the director (read: principal) seems to be universally loved, not only in the school but also in the town, the raion (kind of like a county or district), and by just about everybody who has ever heard of him. The students are, of course, of no lesser quality; it is of these students, primarily, that I formed the aforementioned opinion about being in Moldovan classrooms.

In Moldova, school starts on September 1 (or the following Monday, if it is a weekend) -- a day in which students assemble in what need only be described as clothes that look better than anything any volunteer has ever brought with them, ever. I decided not to wear my suit, mostly because I know that I cannot compete with the impressive accouterments of Moldovan students. Had I thought ahead, I would have taken my camera to capture the sea of well-clad students standing in the courtyard before the school, waiting for the school year to be introduced.

At this point, I really didn't know any students at the school, and I tried my best to hide off to one side. The students, as they milled about, cast curious glances at me which seemed to say: "Who are you? You're not a student, unless maybe you've transferred in from Romania or somewhere. Maybe you're just visiting somebody? Hrm..." Just before the ceremony began, the director, the mayor, and the regional minister of education appeared at the top of the steps, drawing the attention of most of the students. The director, seeing me, motioned for me to join him, stimulating a new set of curious glances from students, this time implying: "OK, so you're not a student. You're standing next to the director, so you must be somebody of some importance. Hrm..." I tried my best not to make eye contact with anybody for more than a second or two at a time.

Speeches were made, most of which remained shrouded in the veil of my own personal language deficiencies. Gifts were given to certain teachers, and to certain students. After pretty much everybody at the top of the steps had spoken, the master of ceremonies said something in Romanian, the only words of which I could really understand were "Corpul Paci" and "Jeffrey Zundel" and the microphone was passed to me. The students, their questioning glances answered, promptly delivered to me a surprisingly enthusiastic cheer. I sputtered some broken Romanian about being happy to have the opportunity to teach English and, trembling ever so slightly, retreated to the side of our director.

Every moment I have spent inside the school since then has been great. The daily schedules are still a bit unstable, and I am still figuring out how to be most effective in my role, but I have a great set of students, talented partner teachers, and a generally positive attitude. With luck, I'll still have all three by the end of the year, too.