We Like 'Em Mashed

Connor loves mashed potatoes. I only wish he loved me as much as he loves them. I’m a pretty big fan myself…but more or less due to the fact that potatoes seem to last indefinitely in my fridge…always and forever a good thing. The day I can get away with serving nothing other than potatoes and not be busted by the nutrition police is the day I'm longing for...seriously.

Being possibly one of the most clueless moms ever (especially when it comes to cooking), my knee-jerk when he asked for them this evening was to hit the pantry…and to produce a package of something called “Butter Buds”, which left him less than thrilled. It might have been that the name did not appeal to him, or the fact that my friend Jackie is slowly and methodically turning all of us into those hippy-dippy-trippy "we-don't-eat-no-artificial-anything" people we used to make endless fun of. OR, it may have been the fact that it clearly proclaimed right there on that package that “absolutely no butter or butter byproducts whatsoever went into the making of this quality product, and we want to clearly state that ‘buds’, although the name may conjure images of sleepovers and countless moments shared with ‘back-slapping-buddies of days gone by’, this product is in no way meant to take the place of an actual friend. Eating this will NOT make you popular. Trust us…we’ve already tried..."

Well.

I told Connor we’d make mashed potatoes the “old fashioned way”…and I then went on to tell my own variation of how “in the olden days, there was somethin’ called the ‘Potato Famine’ when people were so poor, they used to leave the potatoes to reproduce on their own in their dark, danky (yes, it’s a word if I say it is.) clothes closets, (alongside their girdles and stiletto pointy-toed workboots) where they would then dutifully slice them into long, thin noodles…and that’s the story of the ‘Potato Ramen’.

What? No, I never said “Famine”. I said “Ramen”. Yes, I’m sure…don’t question me….I’m the MOM. What I say GOES.

What ensued was the great search for the potato-peeler. Followed by the search for the potato-squishing-tool….whatever it’s called. Both of these tools reside in one of two drawers specially designed to hold each and every known (and unknown) kitchen utensil known to man, or otherwise sold at Bed, Bath & Beyond:



Please take special note of the “Cuisipro” handy-dandy (and yet, un-used) whisk that contains a special “thermal sensor” to accurately measure the temperature of the food one is whisking….(why this is important, I am not quite sure…but someday I’m sure the occasion will arise where you’ll wish you had one…and won’t you be glad to know ME??).

Also note the orange and green plastic eggs...leftovers from Easter and one being the original home to that chicken family that resides on my desk, so they’re being saved for sentimental value. I’ve noticed several contraptions for measuring the temperature of things…so, I’ve obviously got some thermometer-issues to be worked out in future therapy…and finally, do you see the netting-thingies? I threw about 10 away before I took this photo…they’re what Ira at the liquor store uses to separate my Cloudy bottles so they don’t rattle around in the car, thereby creating unnecessary law-enforcement attention, or otherwise tempting me to pull over and take a swig straight from the bottle.

I think Ira knows me too well.

Not knowing how many potatoes to peel and further not knowing how much milk or butter to add, the result was a soupy, lumpy facsimile of Grandma’s recipe….with a flavor that was reminiscent of potatoes….or maybe more like Ramen.