Potato Candy — The Recipe Card Kind of Sweet

Daylight saving math. The kids' bedtime is broken for two weeks. Pre-deployment workups have been ramping up. Ryan was gone Wednesday through Friday for a field exercise.

Caleb, 8, wants to be a firefighter still. Has not deviated. Hazel, 4, chaos incarnate. Put a peanut butter sandwich in the DVD player Wednesday. Showed zero remorse.

Pot roast Sunday. Five hours low. The kind of dish that smells like home for the whole afternoon.

Donna would say: dinner at 1800, no exceptions. We did 1800.

Donna sent a recipe card in the mail this week. She has been doing this for years. The recipes go in the binder. The binder is full. The newest one is for a green bean casserole that uses fresh green beans and fried shallots and which I will absolutely make for the next holiday.

The military spouses' Facebook group had a small drama this week. Two women fighting over the playgroup schedule. I muted notifications and cooked dinner. Some weeks the group is the lifeline. Some weeks it is the source of unnecessary stress. The skill is knowing which week you're in.

I made a casserole for a neighbor whose husband is deployed. I dropped it off. She cried. I told her, eat the casserole, baby. The food is the saying. The casserole was a mostly-frozen tater-tot situation that took fifteen minutes of effort and six months of practice to perfect.

Hazel and I had a hard moment Tuesday at homework time. She is in a season of testing limits. We worked through it. We always do. She is mine.

The PCS rumors are starting again. The official orders will come in a few months. We could move. We could stay. The waiting is the worst part. Three years here and I have learned to not put down deep roots in any military town. Nineteen-year-old me would not have believed how good I have gotten at packing.

The kids' soccer game was Saturday morning. The other parents brought oranges and Capri Suns. I brought a thermos of coffee for myself and a folding chair I bought at Target three years ago that has been to four duty stations now. The chair is a more loyal companion than some of my friends.

Ryan's friends came over Friday for a beer. I made wings and chips. They demolished both. Standard Marine appetite — they eat like they are still on rations. The kitchen looked like a battlefield by the end. They cleaned up. Marines clean up. Donna would have been impressed.

Reading another military memoir at night. They make Ryan tense. They steady me. We negotiate. He doesn't ask what I'm reading. I don't tell him. The arrangement works.

Ryan went to his counselor Wednesday. He always comes home calmer. I am calm too, just from him being calm. The man Torres was killed with — Ryan calls his wife twice a year on Torres's birthday and the anniversary. The military widows are their own community.

The kitchen counter has a chip in it from someone before us. Some military housing thing. I have stopped asking what. The chip is fine. The whole kitchen is provisional. We are renting from Uncle Sam.

I went to the commissary Saturday morning. Got the grocery haul under sixty bucks for the week, which is a small victory. The cashier knows me. We talked about her grandkids while she scanned the chicken thighs and the family-size box of pasta. Small-town energy on a Marine base in California.

I sat at the kitchen table Tuesday night writing in the journal. Volume 11 now. The handwriting has not gotten neater. The journals are a record of the life I am living, in the moment, in tiny script that I will look back on someday and not be able to read. That is okay. The writing was the thing.

The pot roast did its job Sunday — the whole house smelled like something steady while everything else felt like it was moving. By the time the week wound down, I kept thinking about Donna’s binder, and the kind of recipes that don’t ask much of you but somehow give a lot back. Potato Candy is exactly that — an old-fashioned confection that sounds strange until you make it, and then you understand why people have been passing it down on index cards for decades. I made a batch for the kids on Saturday after the soccer game, and Hazel ate three pieces without putting anything in the DVD player, so I’m calling that a win.

Potato Candy

Prep Time: 20 min | Cook Time: 0 min | Total Time: 2 hrs 20 min (includes chilling) | Servings: 24 pieces

Ingredients

• 1/3 cup mashed potato, cooled completely (no butter, no salt — plain)
• 3 to 4 cups powdered sugar, sifted, plus more for dusting
• 1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
• 1/4 teaspoon salt
• 3/4 cup creamy peanut butter

Instructions

1. Start the dough. Place the cooled mashed potato in a large bowl. Add the vanilla extract and salt, then begin mixing in the powdered sugar one cup at a time. The mixture will liquefy at first — keep adding sugar and mixing until a firm, non-sticky dough forms. This usually takes 3 to 4 cups total depending on moisture in the potato.
2. Roll it out. Dust a clean surface generously with powdered sugar. Turn the dough out and roll it into a rectangle approximately 1/4 inch thick, roughly 10 by 12 inches. Dust the top lightly with powdered sugar as needed to prevent sticking.
3. Add the peanut butter. Spread the peanut butter evenly over the surface of the dough, leaving a 1/2-inch border along one long edge.
4. Roll and wrap. Starting from the long edge opposite the border, roll the dough into a tight log, jelly-roll style. Wrap the log tightly in plastic wrap and refrigerate for at least 2 hours, or until firm.
5. Slice and serve. Remove from the refrigerator and unwrap. Using a sharp knife, slice into 1/2-inch rounds. Arrange on a plate and serve chilled or at room temperature. Store leftovers in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to one week.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 118 | Protein: 2g | Fat: 3g | Carbs: 22g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 55mg