The recipe sounded really good but far too fiddly for me to ever consider. It involved scooping out the innards halfway through cooking and mixing them with cheese, nutmeg, double cream and 2 others I can't remember (I am especially excited about the double cream part) then re-inserting into the skins for further baking.
Seriously- what a faff! Stab them, oil them, then shove them in the oven and WALK AWAY for 30 minutes I say.
However, I was reaalllyy looking forward to us all eating them. I pictured us all fighting over the last potato as the other kids would be so enthusiastic about this new labour-intensive baked potato, the head chef would feel all quietly smug and happy about the positive yummy noises everyone was making and (most importantly) the whole scenario would serve to further advance my redundancy by stealth programme, as outlined here.
But then he forgot to bring them home.
The following day he discovered his potatoes safe and well inside their tupperware... on top of a radiator. And he left them there. All day. Then he forgot about them again and arrived home potatoless for a second time. The cheesy creamy labour-intensive baked potatoes spent a further night slowly incubating invisible yet powerfully emetic microlife on top of their radiator, little colonies of life in the deserted school. Tonight after a third day of sitting on top of the radiator he brought the tupperware home- and helpfully put it straight in the fridge.
Me: Mate- these can't stay in here. They need to be chucked.
E: You're chucking out my potatoes?
Me: Yeah cause they've not been in the fridge. They're no good anymore.
E: It wasn't my fault- someone put them on the radiator.
Me: Yes, because you left them in school.
E: But I didn't leave them on the radiator- someone else stupidly put them there!
(Is he buying his own argument or winding me up? I really can't tell. I'm losing my edge)
Me: Which they were only able to do because you left them. Twice.
E: Yes, but I didn't leave them on the radiator and make them inedible!
Me: They are your potatoes mate. You should have brought them home.
E: I left them on a desk though- not a radiator.
Me: Hey! YOU are responsible for your OWN potatoes- no one else! You get me?
E: But it wasn't my fault!
(Do I laugh, cry, change the subject or hit him? I go for 3)
Me: Do you have a debating club at school?
E: Uh no. Don't think so.
Me: You should start one. You'd be really good at it.
E: No I wouldn't!
(Should have gone for MORE of 3. Or just 4. I give THE LOOK instead. He holds my gaze for 10 whole seconds then looks at the floor. THE LOOK doesn't need continuous eye contact to be effective. It bores through to the very soul. He's breaking... It's like the final flailing attempts when I beat him at arm wrestling... Just a few seconds more...)
E: (Getting up to leave) I'm going now. You're looking at me in that freaky way. I don't like it.
And it's all over for the potatoes and the head chef! Do not mess with THE LOOK! I allow myself a brief moment of satisfaction, then realise I've still got to cook tea.
