Crispy Potato Wedges

October weekends are rolling.

We had barbeque on three separate occasions and kicked off the latte season with a blowout. Football, family gatherings, good vibes, cool weather, pumpkin-themed beverages, miniature pumpkins at every corner. It’s, hands down, the best month of the year. On Saturday, we likewise drove out to Dripping Springs to see Victoria’s little brother, Jackson, play some touch pigskin.

When I played pee-wee football during the fall of 1996, I was a chubby sixth grader who rarely got the ball. This experience taught me how to take a blow to the head and not immediately well up but rather hold back tears until coaches weren’t looking and sulk solemnly on the sidelines. It taught me how to throw a punch. It taught me how to get kicked out of blowout losses by throwing punches at stronger kids.

There was this kid, Adrian, who stabbed another kid at Bailey Middle School and made local headlines. He was our team’s best player and served no suspension. Adrian could hit the gaps like a 14 year-old, cut up the field like a monster. I remember being elated that Adrian was still in our starting lineup after the stabbing incident.

Like the time our entire class celebrated the O.J. trial’s live verdict, this is a childhood feel good memory that seems liberal to a deranged degree.

I guess my bigger point is that I detested playing tackle football. When I was 11, the league weight limit was 105 lbs. Jackson is not even in middle school and playing enormous chubsters with a 140-pound ceiling. During his game, the line of scrimmage was dominated by the other team’s fat kids. At this age there are rarely passes and the Silver Tigers were able to crush Jackson’s thinner, smaller Black Tigers with relative ease.

The ordeal was fun and family-friendly, but I left pissed that in such a short span of time, American kids have gotten so fat that tackle football regulations allow for 140-pound horse-kids to play alongside normal, 80-pound children. Patently unfair and I was really taken by Jackson’s mature, sportsman, post-game attitude.

Tying the above anecdote to a no-brainer statement about food, it feels good to control consumed ingredients.

During our third weekend barbeque with Victoria’s grandparents, the duty fell on me to bake potato wedges. Like the Denver Broncos 2009 offense, the process was simple, efficient, hugely successful. The resulting wedges were so good, we forgot to take pictures. Crispy, light, well-seasoned.

Again, all glory to Peepaw’s generous measurements. No homo.

• 4 medium Russet potatoes, cut into large wedges or ½ inch slices
• 1 Tbsp. vegetable oil
• ¼ tsp. freshly ground black pepper
• ⅛ tsp. salt
• 2 cloves garlic, minced (optional)

Place potatoes in a large bowl; add cold water to cover. Let stand 15 minutes. Preheat oven to 425. Spray a foil lined baking sheet with cooking spray. Drain potatoes in a colander. Spread on a double layer of paper towels. Cover with a second layer of paper towels. Press down to dry potatoes. Transfer potatoes to a clean, large bowl. Sprinkle with oil, salt and pepper; toss gently to combine. Arrange seasoned potatoes in a single layer on prepared baking sheet. Bake for 15 minutes. Using a spatula, turn potatoes; sprinkle with garlic. Bake until golden, about 15 minutes, turning baking sheet after 10 minutes for even browning. Serve immediately with ketchup if desired.