I’m assuming most of my readers have easy access to a local grocery store, and if it’s like mine, you can pretty much buy anything you want there year-round.  You might have to hit a few places to find a specific, rare ingredient, but you can probably find almost everything on your list.  When shopping for groceries in Izhevsk, Russia, in 1995, you didn’t make a shopping list.  You set out, saw what was available, and then decided what you wanted.  Making a list was an exercise in futility.  This was especially true of produce.  You could only buy what was in season.  Oranges weren’t imported from tropical climates or grown in greenhouses.  Fresh tomatoes were not available year-round.   As a 17-year-old American who had only known the abundance, variety, and stocked shelves of Western grocery stores, I didn’t know this.  I learned quickly and did all of my shopping with an open mind.  What would I find today?

But one day, despite experience and better judgment, I got a wild hair about potatoes and wouldn’t let it go.  Potatoes were a Russian staple, right?  Surely they were available in abundance all year.  I scoured all of our usual spots for purchasing food, but didn’t see one bin of potatoes.  I didn’t see one potato.  I finally asked some of our Russian friends.

Oh no, you can’t find potatoes this time of year.

I had been craving potatoes, stir-fried with onions, and was unreasonably disappointed. My sister-in-law told me a couple of years ago she had read that your digestive system starts preparing for the food you crave eating.  Since then, our family jokes about getting our stomach juices all ready for something. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but if it is, my stomach juices were preparing for potatoes for days, and I wasn’t going to give up easily.  Looking back on it, it’s sort of a funny thing to crave.  I wasn’t craving French fries or chips or even a specific potato dish.  I just wanted a real, whole potato to cook however I pleased.

Misha (bottom right in the photo above), who had introduced me to curbside ice cream purchased from a cardboard box (you can read about that HERE), took it upon himself to help me on the quest for potatoes.  We had become good friends and palled around most of the summer.  He looked into a few produce markets that had potential, and we set out on the tram to check them out.  One was closed, and the others didn’t have potatoes.  Almost a whole day was spent hopping from one tram to another, walking from one store or market to another, and we didn’t spot one spud of any variety.

I don’t think we even found packaged potatoes like frozen hash browns or instant mashed potatoes.

The only way we were likely to find potatoes was to ask individuals who may have stored some from their garden.  So, Misha started making phone calls.  I remember him explaining this was an unusual request and people who have stored their potatoes might not want to part with any, but he made the calls nonetheless.  We were both invested, and it sort of became like a treasure hunt.  After several nos from people who had potatoes and sorrys from people who didn’t, he finally got a yes.  A family was willing to sell a small bag of their potato stash to an American teenager with a hankering.

We hopped on the tram again and went to their apartment to pick them up.  Misha knocked, and a young woman with dark hair and a plastic bag holding a collection of small potatoes answered the door.  I think the potatoes were of the russet variety because they had thick brown skin.  I don’t remember how much Misha negotiated for the bag of potatoes, but I wasn’t going to traipse all over Izhevsk, beg for potatoes, and then scoff at the price.  I was getting potatoes come what may.   I think I paid in American dollars, which were much more valuable and stable than Russian rubles, and I’m guessing that may have been the deciding factor for the sellers.  (The exchange rate at the time was 4,500 rubles to the dollar.)  I remember that triumphant tram ride back to the apartment.  I hugged the bag close and looked forward to making some home fries, eggs, and toast.

Somewhere, perhaps in one of my parents’ photo albums, is a picture of me sitting on a chair in our small Russian kitchen, hunched over the trash can, peeling my prized potatoes.

Over the thirty years since my summer in Russia, I have lost a bit of the appreciation I gained for potatoes on demand.  Since that day, I haven’t been over the moon about another small bag of potatoes.  I have the opportunity.  About once a month, I order a bag of jumbo baked potatoes for home fries or scrambles for breakfast and baked potatoes for lunch or dinner.  I wish I could say that I relish each one and am always thankful for the abundance we have access to in the US in 2026.  I try to be grateful, but I’m going to endeavor to even express gratitude for the common things that can be expected… like the year-round availability of potatoes.