Great potato story. Loosely related story here. My late grandfather in Belarus (the land of potatoes) loved potatoes just like everyone around. Well, he was an electrician at the concrete/brick making factory for entirety of his career, from right after the war until he retired in the late 80ies. The amount of electricity used to fire the kilns for bricks is well known to be huge. He said that they'd see the rats scutter along the power lines on the wall and every once in a while they'd touch the rails wrong and disappear in the scintillating disintegration. Oh, and he let me weld random junk together with his own cobbled together electrical welding kit when I was like 8, oh I loved that so much. I miss him.