Sliced Baked Potatoes

If you think a potato is just a side, we need to have a serious conversation and possibly a neighborhood intervention (bring snacks). My strongest belief — besides the sanctity of melted butter and the unparalleled joy of leftover gravy — is that sliced baked potatoes deserve their own standing ovation, a small parade, and at least one dramatic Instagram story. Yes, really. Also: if you want a sad, limp potato, keep scrolling. If you want crispy edges and tender, buttery hearts, stay and witness a minor miracle. And also, here’s a comforting obsession I wrote about once while eating bread crumbs: my other carb love affair (I will not apologize).

The Thanksgiving potato fiasco I still guilt over

There was a year — call it 2017 because trauma needs a timestamp — where I decided sliced baked potatoes would be my contribution to Thanksgiving. I thought: how hard could it be? Famous last words. I sliced them too thin (sobbing), forgot to oil the pan (criminal), and served something that looked like a sad potato casserole impersonating a brick. Aunt June complimented them anyway (bless her), and my cousin took a picture that haunts me to this day. Lesson learned: respect the potato. Also: butter is not optional.

Okay, back to the recipe before I spiral into spud therapy

ANYWAY, before I emotionally relive that entire holiday (again), here’s the thing — sliced baked potatoes are absurdly simple, and yes, they can make you look like a culinary genius at your next potluck or neighborhood swap. They take minutes to prep, and you can get fancy or lazy depending on whether you own a microplane or just a wooden spoon. Pro tip: Trader Joe’s has surprise-hero spices that make life easier (and cheaper), and Aldi sometimes slings gems if you time it right. Also, if you want a dinner that pairs well with a rustic main, try them alongside this comforting glazed sausage and potatoes recipe — it’s guilt-by-association delicious.

The no-drama ingredient list (but read my opinions anyway)

• 4 large potatoes (Any type of potato can work, but russets are preferred for crispiness.)
• 2 tablespoons olive oil (Can substitute with avocado oil or melted butter.)
• 1 teaspoon salt (Sea salt or kosher salt can be used.)
• 1 teaspoon black pepper (White pepper can be used as a substitute.)
• 1 teaspoon garlic powder (Fresh minced garlic (2-3 cloves) can be substituted.)
• 1 teaspoon paprika (Can substitute with smoked paprika or chili powder.)

Mini-rant: you don’t need artisanal sea salt from a mountaintop vendor (though if you have it, I won’t judge). Trader Joe’s spices do the job 90% of the time; if you want to feel bougie use flaky sea salt at the end. Buy your potatoes from the grocery where the clerk knows your name. That’s not irrelevant.

Kitchen math — convert like a chill professional

Quick conversions because measuring chaos is still measuring: ounces, tablespoons, cups — this little tool helps if your brain refuses to cooperate.

How I slice, bake, and survive to tell the tale

This is not a dry step list; it’s an existential guide. I learned the hard way that uniformity matters — if your slices are siblings and not cousins, they’ll cook together. I also learned that oil is the unsung therapist here: it helps edges crisp and whispers “you got this” to the interior. Sensory guide: you want the edges to sing a little crackle song under your fork and the inside to be pillowy and sigh-soft.

Preparation:

• Wash and dry the potatoes like you mean it. Slice about 1/4-inch thick — consistent slices = even baking.
• Toss with oil and spices in a bowl, fingers permitted for therapeutic mixing.

Cooking:

• Arrange slices on a baking sheet so they’re not playing Twister; give them space.
• Bake at 425°F until edges are golden and centers yield when poked (roughly 25–35 minutes depending on your oven’s mood).
• Finish under the broiler for a minute if you crave extra drama (watch closely because broilers are tiny divas).

Also, small confession: I once ruined a batch by broiling from too far away because I was texting about a sale at Trader Joe’s. Learn from my mistakes. No, really, learn.

Why these stupid little potatoes actually matter to me

Food is memory and identity and the closest thing I have to a time machine. These sliced baked potatoes taste like Thanksgiving anxiety soothed with butter and smoke, like neighbor kids running with sparklers, like the tiny rituals that say, “We are home.” Cooking is where my family’s stories live and where I try (and often spectacularly fail) to be the person they think I am. Potatoes forgive. People are learning.

A tiny, embarrassing victory

I once served these to my very picky neighbor who declared, with solemnity usually reserved for wedding vows, “This changes everything.” He then asked for the recipe. I wrote it down on a napkin and addressed it like a small treaty. Victory tastes like warm starch and validation.

FAQ: Chaotic answers to practical potato questions

Okay, okay, I’ll stop giving feelings to potatoes now. Just trust me: these are simple, forgiving, and melodramatically satisfying. Make them for Thanksgiving, a Tuesday, or a weird holiday where you need to impress very little but love a lot. If you burn one batch, keep the receipts of your mistakes — they make great stories.

Estimate your calories (so you can decide if guilt is optional)

A quick tool to ballpark your daily needs and how these potatoes fit into your life.