I recall my parents cooking in the kitchen years back and my dad stealing raw potato chunks on the sly before they could make it into the pot. I, impressionable youth, copied this action, finding satisfaction in the eye-roll that my mom would give. “They’re no good that way.” Then she would shake her head and position herself just so, so that it’d be a little harder for us to steal more starchy, crunchy bites.

Turns out that … delicious or not … potatoes really are no good raw. (I sent a text to my mom the other day to the effect of ‘What does it feel like, this being right all the darned time!’ — it was on an unrelated matter.