A little, yellow, gleaming spud
Illuminates December mud.
So begins deliberation –
On potatoes and their preparation.
Is it water or fire they should meet,
To be transformed by steady heat?
Gathered up and thrown to boil,
Or roasted crisp in rosemary oil?
Each has their virtue and their claim.
Each would satisfy the same.
And if I could but cook them twice,
I think both options would suffice.
Boil or roast? Boil or roast?
All are worthy of this host.
I make good upon my yearly oath:
I will have both. I will have both.
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Summoned into festive life through that most beneficent of storytellers, Mr Charles Dickens