One of the unexpected silver linings of being mostly at home, has been how much more we, as a family, are cooking together- not necessarily elaborate meals, rather, meals put together from a discussion at the table or while pottering about the kitchen or from a sudden urge to cook something comforting. This evening, our trusty sausages from ‘Oink’ won hands down and as we talked about what ‘bangers and mash’ means I was reminded of growing up eating my Aunty Pam’s (now 97), buttery, potato mash. We decided that was going on the menu for dinner along with Ottolenghi’s delicious broccoli salad.
While I readied the broccoli florets for their grilling, Sufi was on the mashed potato. My usually squirmy one peeled the boiled potatoes, gingerly at first. Once she got the hang of it, amid giggles, she got through all of them. She sprinkled sea salt and pepper and got her self a fork to begin mashing. Warmed milk was added it to the peeled quarters and she began her mashing effort. At first it was more like poking and prodding with the fork (note to self, buy a decent masher) but as they began to break into smaller pieces she got into her groove. The potatoes did not look too appetizing at this stage so she decided she needed to go back to the recipe we had watched online, before we began. She giggled again convinced that the finished product on the screen looked more like mayonnaise with an egg yolk in the middle rather than mashed potatoes with a lump of butter. More milk was added and then, of course, the butter followed. The butter was cut into cubes- a family belief in our house is that butter makes every thing better. Sufi, I am happy to report, did not scrimp. She generously added lump after lump of butter and mashed away, the potatoes greedily soaking up the warm milk, and the butter helping the texture gradually morph from lumpy to smooth. One last splash of milk and we got the whisk out. Almost instantly the mixture blended into its smooth, creamy form. “It looks like dough, Mum!” she laughed, sighing with relief, no mayo in sight.
Dinner went down well- the thick, creamy and very buttery spuds were a slam dunk.
As we finished dinner, my reflection was that sometimes, being together, looks like mashed potatoes.
Change the words 
Ha! Love the way you tie this together in your final lines. And yes, the more better, the butter. Tell Sufi I want some potatoes too. 🙂
Love how you cooked together. During difficult times, family enjoying togetherness…precious! Love mashed potatoes! Yum!
I haven’t though of mashed potatoes as a metaphor before, but it is a good one. I love mashed potatoes. These days my husband makes them, but I taught him, and my grandmother taught me. A couple hacks I like: melt the butter and warm the milk before putting them in the potatoes. This keeps the spuds warm. I also mash the potatoes in the pan w/ the burner on low, and sometimes I add garlic. Yum. A hand mixer gets the potatoes super creamy.
What a wonderful slice of family time – joy in the mundane.
This metaphor at the end of your slice works well to connect with your slice, as every ingredient is needed to make the dish special..”sometimes, being together, looks like mashed potatoes.”