In my kitchen, it is potatoes that signal the arrival of autumn.
In the spring or summer, the odd few show up, earmarked for home fries or channa masala, or the occasional potato salad.
In the autumn, I buy them in large numbers – for baked potatoes, for stews, for roast potatoes – all those things that spring is too bright for, and summer too hot.
Right now, five pounds of russets wait under my table and a pound of fingerlings in the hanging bin. Tomorrow, scalloped potatoes will feature at dinner, soft and creamy and full of the promise of feasting to come.