Our love affair with the potato does not seem to be coming to an end anytime soon. Why is it that a food introduced so recently to Ireland (approximately 250 years) has become the dominant image of Irish food on an international level?

Don't get me wrong. I love spuds, in all their shapes and varieties. I love especially the heritage kind: purple, red and yellow. One of my favourites at the moment is a variety called Pink Fir Apple. It's grown in Co Louth by Ballymakenny farm. It's certainly the king or queen of favourites (I don't know what sex a potato is!).

Some terminology would be best left alone. The phrase “boil the potatoes” comes to mind. A chef once told me when I was a young man that the only thing you boil is water. He may have been wrong but I’ve used it as a good rule of thumb for most of my cooking life.

My Nana boiled the potatoes until they had lost themselves to the murky water below. Potato water is part of my childhood food memories. I'm sure we've all done it. Simply boil the hell out of your potatoes until you can no longer distinguish between potato and water. I read somewhere it was served during the second World War under the auspicious name "potato soup". Soup should not be boiled either.

Peel your potatoes gently and imagine you love them. I’ve seen too many chefs peel potatoes as if the had a deathly vendetta against the poor tuber.

Seek out different varieties. Go to markets. Talk to farmers. A potato is never a potato, or rather, it is never just a potato. It is part of our modern heritage. In the 19th century it was combined with buttermilk for a nutritious meal.

Simmer some nicely pink apple potatoes until soft enough to take the tip of a knife. Remove from the water. Warm some seasoned cream. Remove from the heat and fold in some buttermilk. Combine with the potatoes. Garnish with some fresh sea lettuce. A lovely side dish to accompany any white fish. Enjoy!