My Grandma’s Roasted Potatoes Are Worth Fighting Over

My grandma once told me that she didn’t really like cooking. It’s ironic, then, that the two things she’s best known for in my family are her roasted potatoes and her pot roast. I only ever eat her potatoes twice a year — on Rosh Hashanah and Thanksgiving — and I don’t look forward to the holiday, or the time off, nearly as much as I look forward to the potatoes. 

When I was growing up, I always anxiously awaited the sight of grandma walking up to our house from her car carrying a giant aluminum foil roasting pan. I’d sneak a potato as early and often as possible — because who could wait until dinner?

It wasn’t just me who was obsessed: Before dinner was served, warnings were issued from all the cousins to leave enough potatoes for everyone. They’re crispy on the outside and tender and buttery on the inside, and it’s impossible to eat just one. In fact, when my mom and I cooked them again, we literally stood over the pan, forks in hand, and ate straight out of it.

A few years ago, my mom inherited the responsibility of making the potatoes. Grandma had fastidious notes for her.  

• Buy the whole canned potatoes from Del Monte or Stop & Shop. Those are the best ones; “nowhere else is as good.”
• They have to be cooked the day-of, because they won’t be good if they’re made ahead of time. 
• They must be cooked in an aluminum pan (metal pan). (But aluminum is fine for transport and a small reheat before serving.) 

Unfortunately, Grandma passed away earlier this year, so I can’t ask her for more details about this beloved recipe, like where it originated. She can’t know that it’s being published or written about. She can’t tell me all of her specific notes about how they should be made to make sure they’re the best. 

While this isn’t the first holiday season without her cooking the potatoes, it is the first one without her around to call and ask how they went. Over the years, I’d tell her, “Mom did a good job, but yours are the best.” She’d tell me that she’s sure Mom did a good job, but I knew she was secretly a little pleased that hers were the best. Because, at the end of the day, nothing beats Grandma’s cooking.