I Never Met a Potato I Didn’t Like — Until Yesterday

Several years ago,  I hosted the extended Lewis family for Thanksgiving (like I did this year).   I knew the teen-aged boys loved mashed potatoes. So I peeled potatoes.  Lots of ‘em.  An amount that I thought would be enough.  Then I peeled some more.  And even more.  We ended up with enough mashed potatoes that we could have fed the 5,000.

Yesterday, I was again peeling potatoes — with my husband.  (He’s the next up and coming Julia Child.)  More, I insisted.  More.

In the process, our granddaughter arrived.  I had to pause to kiss her and ooo and aaah that her outfit matched the quilt I made for her.

Back to the potatoes.  I put them on to cook.  I waited for the pressure in my pressure cooker to build.  No steam.  No steam.  No steam.

Yikes! I didn’t put any water in the bottom of the pan.   I quickly pulled the pot off the stove.  Charred edges graced the potatoes.  Scorched pieces clung to the sides and the bottom of the pot.

I had only 4 un-peeled potatoes.  If I threw out the scorched ones and started over, those 4 spuds wouldn’t be enough to feed everybody.  Should my husband dash to the store to buy more?  The doorbell rang and our first guests arrived.  I would just have to salvage what I could.

Company came into the kitchen.  I smiled and chatted while trying to inconspicuously scrub the scorched potatoes from my pressure cooker.  My daughter cut the blackest spots off the potatoes.

Then, she noticed the pot holder that was under the very hot pressure cooker.  Just like the potatoes.  Scorched!

I finished cleaning the pot, peeled the last 4 potatoes, and put all of the potatoes back in the cooker.

Daughter: Did you put in enough water?

Me: I thought I did.  Put in more.

Me:  A little more

Me:  Maybe a wee bit more.

I put the spuds on the stove and mingled with the other family members who had recently arrived.  Back to the stove.  Nothing was happening.  No steam.

I hadn’t turned on the element.

I turned it on and busied myself with other things.  Ten minutes later, still no steam.  Checked the pot.  Too much water.  Dumped some off.  Dumped more off.  And a bit more.  Would there be enough water now or would the potatoes get scorched — again?

I considered not serving potatoes.

Remember my difficulty with my rice cooker?  And that I had told my husband I was cooking like a new bride?  The thought crossed my mind that maybe my brain needed more dopamine* instead.  (Next year, the Health Department and the local fire department might ban me from cooking mashed potatoes.  Either them or the National Mental Health Association.)

It took FOREVER for the potatoes to cook.  The turkey was getting cold.  How much longer before we could sit down to eat?

When I finally took the potatoes off the stove, I had a hard time getting the cooking rack out of the bottom of the pot.  After a battle, it finally came out.  As I whipped the potatoes (would the extra milk and butter hide the scorched taste?), they went flying all over the cupboard, ceiling, and floor — and me.

We finally sat down to dinner 45 minutes late.

What is it with me and mashed potatoes on Thanksgiving Day?

Dear family members:  if perchance you read this post (and learn what was really happening in the kitchen yesterday while you were in the family room ooo-ing and aah-ing over Natalie), please realize that I don’t normally cook like this.   Sometimes it’s worse.  But please, don’t let what happened yesterday stop you from coming over and eating again at our home.  Please!

Question:  What can I learn from this?
A.  Cook the potatoes before company comes so I’m not distracted
B.  Have someone else bring the mashed potatoes
C. Suggest we eat at Chuck-a-Rama instead

*Dopamine controls the flow of information from other areas of the brain, especially memory, attention and problem-solving tasks