I told the potatoes thank you at the Mercado de Nuestra Señora de África

I stood in front of a mountain of potatoes at the Mercado de Nuestra Señora de África on Saturday morning and could not tell the old wrinkled ones from the new ones. The man behind the stall picked out the right ones, told me which to boil with the skin on, and slipped in a small jar of red mojo for free. I made them exactly as he said, twenty five minutes, salt in the water. It was the best dinner of the month. I went back to tell him. He was busy. I told the potatoes.