I remember hearing a skit on “You say potato and I say potato” somewhere.  Was it Monty Python?  The person reading it just couldn’t understand why it was funny.  (He obviously had never heard the song.) It’s more amusing aurally than it is in script.  Anyway, tonight I made mashed potatoes. 

When I was a kid (Oh no, not another “when I was a kid” story), we had mashed potatoes every night.  I mean *every* night.  It didn’t matter what else we were having.  Hot dogs and sauerkraut?  Perfect with mashed potatoes.   Swedish meatballs and noodles?  Another fine fit for mashed potatoes.  Truly, anything could be washed down with a blob of potatoes.

My mother or father used to mash the potatoes when I was little.  Later my older sister would mash them.  Finally, it was my turn.  Just the right amount of butter and warmed milk.  Smash them with masher but then whip them with a spoon.  With a well made in them for gravy or, at my house, stewed tomatoes, they were what dinner was all about.

I’ve grown away from mashed potatoes.  I probably only make them once or twice a year for a holiday – turkey gravy and mashed potatoes at Thanksgiving, for instance.  But the other day I was talking to my hair stylist about my childhood and how we always had mashed potatoes for dinner.  And it got me yearning.

So tonight I made mashed potatoes to accompany grilled flank steak and broccoli.  I really salted the water heavily.  It’s amazing how much salt potatoes need when you boil them.  I used russet potatoes and threw in about 5 crushed garlic cloves.  After they were boiled, I drained them and mashed the garlic and the potatoes together over a low flame to evaporate any lingering water.  Some butter, a little milk, switch to wooden spoon for whipping and, viola, mashed potatoes.

They were so good and, obviously, they brought back memories of sitting at the family table years and years ago.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *