Read Poem: THE POTATO SALAD, by Andrew Clinnick

Copyright © Andrew Clinnick May 2024
(Genre: The Potato Salad is an Australian Domestic Food poem, with a few spoons of
Humour and Sibling Rivalry thrown in for good measure. Hope you like it! 🙂

Dad said, ‘Ya gotta dice the spuds
’fore ya cook ’em
and let ’em boil for five minutes,
’fore draining ’em.
Then ya dump about half a
bottle of mayo on ’em.’

And then Dad cooked
the potato salad.
It was—
the potato salad,
the potato salad.

Mum said, ‘It’s the best
potato salad Dad ever maaaade.
It even beat Uncle Bob’s famed
pasta salaaaaaaaaaad!
The one that won all those awaaarrrds.’

Dad said, ‘Don’t tell me about Bob’s salad.
That bugger stole my recipe.
That pasta salad used to belong to
meeeeeeeeeeeee!
Please don’t talk about Bob’s salad.’

And then Dad cooked
the potato salad.
It was—
the potato salad,
the potato salad.

Then Mum and Dad went out the back
to light the barbie
and get ready for tea.
My big sister Tracy said,
‘It’s gunna be magic!’
I was lookin’ forward to eatin’ Dad’s salad!

And then Dad cooked
the potato salad.
It was—
the potato salad,
the potato salad.
The Potato Salad

Me and Tracy were still
in the kitchen when Uncle Bob
came over with his pasta salad.
It was the pasta salad.

It was pasta salad.
We said, ‘No, Uncle Bob,
don’t bring the pasta salad!
Not the pasta salad!
It’ll freak out Dad somethin’ bad!
He’ll be off his rocker!
It’ll be a bloody shocker!’

And then Dad cooked
the potato salad.
It was—
the potato salad,
the potato salad.

But Uncle Bob said,
‘I’ve come from all the way across the street
with this pasta salad.
It took me thirty-five minutes
for me to cook it.
It’s the pasta salad,
the bloody pasta salad!’

But we said,
‘If Dad sees that
he’s really gunna lose it!
He’s already cooked potato salad.
He won’t wanna ’nother salad.
Not another salad.’

And then Dad cooked
the potato salad.
It was—
the potato salad,
the potato salad.

It was too late because
Uncle Bob had already ducked outside
with his pasta salad.
‘Oh crikey,’ I said, ‘he really did it!
He took the pasta salad!
The bloody pasta salad!’

Then Tracy and me went out into
the backyaaaaaaarrrrrrrrd
to watch the salad tasting competition
between Dad and Uncle Bob
and hopefully eat some salad.

And then Dad cooked
the potato salad.
It was—
the potato salad,
the potato salad.

Mum ate a bit of Dad’s salad.
She said, ‘It tastes great!
I wanna finish off the plate!’
But then Uncle Bob said,
‘What about mine?’
Dad wasn’t very happy,
but he agreed it was only fair.

As soon as Mum took a bite
of Uncle Bob’s salad,
she smacked her lips and said,
‘That’s the best salad
there’s ever been!’

And then Dad cooked
the potato salad.
It was—
the potato salad,
the potato salad.

After that Dad lost the plot.
He wanted to go Uncle Bob
and they started a punch-up
over the potato salad.
It was the best salad I ever had.
It was made by Dad.

Then Uncle Bob grabbed the tongs
from the barbie
and whacked Dad across the skull
and he dropped like a bag of spuds
and we thought he was dead.

But then Dad surprised us
by jumping up and grabbin’
the bowl of pasta salad,
smacking it over Uncle Bob’s head,
bits of pasta flew everywhere,
me and Tracy were really scared.

And then Dad cooked
the potato salad.
It was—
the potato salad,
the potato salad.

We didn’t see Uncle Bob again,
not for ages.
Dad didn’t wanna talk about him
or the salad.
But he forgave Mum for shaming
him in front of Uncle Bob.

And then Dad cooked
the potato salad.
It was—
the potato salad,
the potato salad,
the potato salad,
the potato salad,
the potato salad.