You Say PO-TAY-TOE; I Say Pa-whatthehell?

In effort to supplement our dinner of beef, I whipped up some fabulous potatoes. Sliced 3 potatoes into 24 wedges, dunked them olive oil and set them on a baking pan. Sprinkled with salt and pepper, they get tossed in the oven: 20 minutes, flip, 20 minutes, eat.

15 of the first 20 minutes go by and I can hear them sizzling from another room. Hmmm. Pretty sure they shouldn't be sizzling.

20 minutes goes and I pull the pan out of the oven, still sizzling. Spatula in hand, I start to flip them. Weird, I'm having to PRY them off of the baking sheet... and what the heck is on that potato?

Of course, it's flecks of baking pan. Awesome.

I dump out the ones that had silver sparkles (of death) and put the rest in the oven.

3 minutes into the second shift, I smell burning taters and write it off to the sizzling olive oil. 17 minutes into the shift, I am smelling BURNT taters and whip them out of the oven, cussing.

They fought the spatula, again.
The pan peeled off onto the potatoes, again.
I tossed the sparkly ones in the sink, again.

And then, we dined. On perfectly grilled steaks and ONE wedge.

Now do you see why we eat out so much?