The French expression ‘Les pommes de terre en robe des champs’ means baked potatoes. Imagine the gloopy orange mess that is coronation chicken, a staple of spudulikes, filling an apple of the earth in the dress of the fields. Or an apple of the earth in the dress of the bedroom – which is what the 1869 Larousse calls them. A bedjacket potato. An apple of the boudoir. They may call them by a far more sensual name, but the French are rubbish at baked potatoes. The only tattie shop in Paris is a disgrace of lumps and cheap emmental. The best baked potato shop in the whole world is called Take It Away Spud. It’s represented here in glorious black and white by Miguel Arredondo :
Fittingly, Bogart was no stranger to a hot bedjacket, particularly one with Bacall in it. If you know how to whistle, go to Take It Away Spud, where even the coronation chicken is bearable, and the philosopher owner Mitch is a hugely benevolent employer of, as he puts it, the poor and depraved, of whom I was one.
Take it Away Spud, 31 North West Circus Place, Edinburgh, Scotland EH3 6TP