Whose bright idea was it to cook potatoes in MILK? Instead of water. That was for mashed potatoes, you understand, for the traditional Christmas dinner. Snatches of overheard discussion indicated that with this method the potatoes would mash themselves <insert a touch of skepticism>.
And so it came to be, although it seemed like an inordinately endless time to reach the desirable consistency. Bubbling away there, reducing the stock as it were, resembling porridge. As an observer only, I beamed benignly on the next generation of geniuses in my kitchen.
Much later they all departed the premises, having carefully portioned out the leftovers to share. I got the mashed potatoes. All of them. For some reason a small mountain of left. over. mashed. potatoes.
Thus I enjoyed a creative week of mashed potatoes:
- with leftover ham
- with leftover caribou paté
- with gifted homemade chutney
- with gifted cheese (names & labels lost) and minced chives
- with fresh tomatoes and the last of the cheese
- with arugula, avocado, cucumber salad
Did I mention? It took three days to clean the burnt potato mash off the bottom of my best pot. Fused it was. No-one tells you about that. Or no-one noticed what with the festive wine and turkey and the anxiety about not forgetting the dessert in the fridge.
Memo to self:
1. Potatoes. Cook henceforth the regular way for mashing.
2. Return to reading books.