Here’s a partial answer to Ruth Marshall’s question (BDN, March 10), “Where are all the good potatoes going?” To the U.S. Naval Commission in Naples, Italy — Desert Storm 1991. Having eaten for five straight weeks the wonderfully fresh pasta of southern Italy, I craved a meat-and-potatoes meal. A large baked ham, baby peas and mashed potatoes would do just fine.

The purchased bag of potatoes was instantly recognized (if memory serves me well it was red, white ,and blue), and upon close inspection, the words “Presque Isle, Me.”Any potato would have tasted great at that point. However, they truly were the best potatoes I have had in years. Back in Maine, I sought out the same product and it did not meet the same high standard as the “Italy” potato.

I agree with Ruth Marshall: We are a potato state, so why do I, a taxpaying citizen, eat less than top-quality Maine potatoes? And why did it take a visit to another country to discover this? I solved this dilemma (admittedly with clenched jaws) for myself. I can proudly say, after much learning (and an intimate relationship with the potato beetle), that I am now growing my own potatoes. I have not bought any potatoes, Maine or otherwise, in four years. Ruth, I’ll send you a bag come September harvest. Judy Patterson Dixmont