“Don’t you feel sorry for the potatoes?” is the spark that brought us here. Consuming a bread bowl of clam chowder on Fisherman’s Wharf is an annual ritual for me. One summer several years ago, my best friend paused right before a big bite from her Boudin bowl to look at her spoon, look at my sister and I, and ask that strange question. We looked at her like she was crazy as she explained, “I mean, the potatoes are always there, but the clams get all the credit.” After a moment or two of reflection, we realized she was right. The only logical conclusion to draw? The potatoes must be sad.