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I Say Potayto, You Say Potahto

Some women have a thing for tall men.  Others have a thing for men with curly hair.  And then there are those women who go for muscles.  Visual stimuli, works for some, but not for me.  For me the attraction is aural.  

If you’re having trouble figuring that one out, or keeping your mind out of the sewer, look it up. 

Okay, back to my aural fixation…  I have a thing for English accents.  It’s an illness, really.  It all started in the 7th grade, when Miriam Greenblum beckoned me into her bedroom and said, “You have to listen to one of my sister’s records, it’s so cool!”  The record was The Beatles’ Magical Mystery Tour, and at that point my life changed forever.  I fell in love first with their music, then with them (predominantly George Harrison), and later on, when I saw their movies, with their accents.  I didn’t realize that they had working class Liverpudlian accents, I just loved listening to them talk.  I started watching any BBC production I could on public television.  Monty Python’s Flying Circus, Fawlty Towers, The Good Life, To The Manor Born, as long as they were speaking with that accent, I mopped it up.  

The First Husband was a Brit.  Still is, actually.  21 years of listening to him say ” ‘ello, luv,” well, let’s just say I didn’t divorce him because of his Cockney accent.  And then there’s Ju-boy, a/k/a The Last Husband.  Also a Brit.  He’s got a yummy accent, London with a touch of country.  Everything that comes out of his mouth sounds golden (to my fetished ears), even when he yells, “Oh Miriyummy, my sweet, my cherub, where the @#*! have you hidden my slippers?” 

But man plans, God laughs. While I ooohed and aaaahed over his accent, he did have this habit of correcting my pronunciation.  When I would ask him if he wanted some tomato in his salad, he would not answer yes or no, but would say tomahto.  He uses a tis-you.  He keeps to a she-jew-al.  It’s a tiny bit irritating, or, as he would say, it gets up my nose.  But still, I love to listen to him, even when he rolls his eyes when I’d ask him if he wanted a banana (he’d say no, he didn’t, he wanted a ba-naaaaah-na).  Finally, I confronted him.  “Do you want me to sound like Madonna after she moved to England?  Do you want me to tawk to you in my Bronx accent?  Yo!  Ju-boy!  Ya wanna tomahto?  Would you care for a spot of cawfee?”  He got the point.  And we continue to live happily ever after, for the moment. 

Oddly enough, in spite of the Gershwin lyrics, the Brits also say potayto.  Does it matter?  I’m getting hungry discussing this.  Which leads us to part of what’s for supper tonight, Golden Herbed Potato Wedges.  You can find the recipe on one of my favorite blogs, Israeli Kitchen.  Full of wonderful recipes, this blog is always a source of mealtime inspiration. 

Golden Herbed Potato Wedges -- before

Golden Herbed Potato Wedges -- after

Carbo heaven!

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