I was talking to my friend, and an unexpected riddle began. We talked about my blog, and the conversation moved onto a particular food. He asked me if I can write a recipe on my blog about Red Braised Potatoes. I got so excited and said yes because I could tell how much he loves the dish. Right after that, I began to cook inside my head. The braised potatoes. The small potatoes that are glossy, red, sweet, and chewy. Imagining the delicious potatoes, I suddenly got a weird feeling. I rechecked the conversation. He said, "It's soft enough to crush easily, and I mix it with the rice." Wait, that's totally different from what I captured in my mind. I forgot to ask and got myself into the endless imagining and googling.

To be "soft enough to easily crush," there must be enough soup. He said, "red," so it must be properly spicy. I've never tasted it, and I can't go anywhere to taste it here in Paris. So I began to cook it, continually thinking of the conversation and the images googled.

Cooking it a couple of times, I've got used to it. On a deep wide rim plate with steamed rice, I put the red braised potatoes. I crush them, mix them with rice, and before I know it, the plates are empty. Just like a ceramic jar densely filled with something, my belly is full. Is this taste what he expects? I write down my answer to the riddle.