I made latkes for dinner tonight, just for me and my husband, after the kids had gone to bed. (I fed them first, don't worry.) I made a lot considering only two people were going to eat them: two big potatoes, a zucchini, four eggs. Which made me remember the following.
A couple years ago--no, more--Sarah came to visit. I asked her what she wanted for dinner and she said she wanted latkes. (I think it was June, but whatever--I made them tonight and it's August, which feels even farther away from Chanuka even though it isn't really.) I said okay and started rummaging around in the crisper for potatoes. I pulled out two and then stuck my head back around the refrigerator door.
"How many latkes do you want?" I asked.
"Oh, I can eat them till I die," she said matter-of-factly.
I looked at the two potatoes in my hand. I looked back in the crisper. "Four potatoes?"