Roasted Fingerling Potatoes

The lake does what the lake does. The blog gets written when the words come. The Thursday soup gets ladled. The grandchildren get fed. The rhythm holds. The rhythm is, I think, the great gift of this period of life — the kids stable enough that I can settle, my own grief settled enough that I can produce, the kitchen open enough that the family can come and go. Sophie's daughter Ingrid is walking now. She walked across the kitchen and grabbed my leg and looked up at me and said "Mor" — the Swedish for grandmother. Sophie is teaching her Swedish, or as much Swedish as Sophie remembers, which is enough for the basics. Ingrid said "Mor" with the perfect Swedish O, the rounded back-of-the-mouth O that only a child still learning sounds can pronounce. I cried. Sophie cried. The dog watched us with the patience of a saint. Sophie is pregnant again. Another baby. Due next year. I will be a great-grandmother of two. The cheat sheet on the refrigerator is going to need updating. I have a small piece of graph paper taped inside the pantry door with a family tree on it. I update it after every birth, every wedding, every death. The paper is folded at the corners now and slightly yellowed at the edges. The tree has many branches. The branches keep coming. Julbord prep is in full force. The list is on the fridge. The pickled herring is ordered (three varieties — mustard, dill, onion — from Russ Kendall's, delivered next week). The meatballs are scheduled (Wednesday before Christmas Eve, sixteen pounds of beef and pork, the kind of cooking marathon that requires water breaks). The kitchen is at war with December and December is losing. The kitchen has been winning this war since 1990. The kitchen will win again. I cooked Jansson's temptation this week. Layered potato, sprat fillet, onion, cream. Baked until the top is brown and the cream is bubbling. The dish that no one believes will be good and that everyone fights over by the end of the night. The Damiano Center: a regular named Marlene, who has been coming for twelve years, told me her granddaughter just had a baby. She was glowing. She had a photo on her phone. The phone was old and cracked but the photo was clear: a small pink baby in a hospital blanket. Marlene said: "I am a great-grandmother now. The same as you." I said: "Welcome to the club." We hugged. The line continues, even on the hard side of the soup line. Mamma's bread pans are on the shelf where they have always been. I used the smaller one this week. The metal has worn smooth in the places her hands touched it for sixty years. The pan is, in some real sense, a sculpture of Mamma's hands. I knead the bread in the bowl Mamma used. I shape it on the counter Mamma stood at (well, mine, but identical to hers — same Formica color, same dimensions). I bake it in the pan Mamma baked in. The kitchen is the relay. The relay continues. It is enough. Paul is not here. Mamma is not here. Pappa is not here. Erik is not here. They are all here in the kitchen, in the smell, in the taste, in the wooden spoon and the bread pans and the marble slab. The dead are not where the body went. The dead are in the kitchen. It is enough.

Jansson’s temptation is the crown jewel of the Julbord table — cream-soaked, fought over, never enough — but every crown jewel needs a setting, and at my table that setting has always been a plain, honest roasted potato. The fingerlings go in the oven while the Jansson’s is resting, they come out crackling and golden, and they disappear just as fast, because a table full of people who have come in from the cold will never pass over a good potato. This is the recipe I reach for when the kitchen is already at war with December and I need something I can trust.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 30 minutes | Total Time: 40 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

2 lbs fingerling potatoes, scrubbed and halved lengthwise
3 tablespoons olive oil
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon smoked paprika
2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, roughly chopped (for serving)
Flaky sea salt, for finishing

Instructions

Preheat the oven. Set your oven to 425°F (220°C). Place a large rimmed baking sheet inside to heat while the oven comes to temperature — this is what gives you the crisp, golden cut side.
Season the potatoes. In a large bowl, toss the halved fingerlings with olive oil, salt, pepper, garlic powder, and smoked paprika until evenly coated.
Roast cut-side down. Carefully remove the hot baking sheet from the oven. Arrange the potatoes cut-side down in a single layer — do not crowd them. Roast for 25–30 minutes, until the cut sides are deep golden brown and the skins are slightly crisped. Do not stir or flip.
Finish and serve. Transfer to a serving dish, cut-side up. Scatter with fresh parsley and a pinch of flaky sea salt. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Roasted Fingerling Potatoes — The Potato That Holds the Table Together