With a wealth of potatoes at our disposal—or at least as much wealth as you can get from two 4×4′ raised garden beds—I asked My Taller Half (MTH) what kind of potatoes he would like. I listed a few types, then he smiled. Let’s have those ones … you know … the ones (he mimicked a slicing motion) … in the sauce. I knew exactly what he meant, but like him, I could not remember the name of these potatoes. Rather than ruin the evening in frustration for our dual momentary lapses, I assured him I would make them before we ran out of potatoes.

The next morning, I woke early, and the word was there, clear and shining if twelve hours too late. Triumphant, I loudly shared my epiphany with MTH. Scalloped potatoes!

MTH was asleep. He fought his way through the fog and glared at me. Okay, it would have been a glare if he could have opened his eyes. “Scalloped potatoes?” He pried his eyes open enough to read his bedside clock. “You’ve cheated me out of twenty minutes of sleep. I am claiming these twenty minutes!”

Satisfied, I started my day. I fully intended to make scalloped potatoes when they reminded me of one of my favorites—au gratin. I mentioned these to MTH, who seemed pleased with the idea. Cheese makes everything better. I had another idea. “From now on, when we can’t think of a word, we should just say Scalloped Potatoes.” He grinned.

It was my first time making au gratin potatoes, so I grabbed a highly-rated recipe off the internet. The recipe I chose said it was a variation of Julia Child’s, which was good enough for me and saved me a trip to the bookshelf where Mastering the Art of French Cooking – The 40th Anniversary Edition has rested undisturbed since I moved to Pixley. I should have gone to the bookshelf. Julia’s recipe for Gratin Dauphinois (Scalloped Potatoes with Milk, Cheese, and a Pinch of Garlic) would have saved me with its higher temperature and warning not to use a deep pan. I used my pretty round Polish stoneware dish instead of the more utilitarian Pyrex. Not the best choice. Don’t get me wrong—the potatoes were tasty. MTH was very enthusiastic in this regard. Buoyed by the promises of creaminess, the first bite he tried was less than pliant. He said the rest were fine. I couldn’t say the same. They were tasty, but they weren’t perfect. Next time, my pommes de terre will be amazing.

The name Gratin Dauphinois captured my imagination. Was this because the Dauphin (the title for the eldest son of the king when France had a king) really loved this recipe? No. A little research found that The Dauphiné is a former province of France near the southeastern border, a part of which includes a portion of the southern Alps. Potatoes will grow at these altitudes. One thing I enjoy about cooking is that it ties people together across time, space, and cultures. Nearly everyone enjoys a good meal—and those who don’t are suspect.

Sharing the bounty of our little garden is as gratifying as partaking of it ourselves. We have enjoyed several potato dishes so far, shared some potatoes with neighbors and friends, and have several pounds remaining for other dishes. Red Pontiacs have earned a space in future gardens, and as good as they are, we need to enlarge our garden so that we can enjoy and share even more. And in the interest of sharing, the next time you can’t think of the word that is just on the tip of your tongue, feel free to say, Scalloped Potatoes! You’re welcome.