When I was little, I liked cheerios more than anything and I used to say that I liked them because they were bland...and bland food made me appreciate the little flavor there was all the more. I would eat pasta without sauce...but a little Parmesan. I still prefer my pasta without sauce and if I buy cereal...I buy Rice Chex because the subtle flavor with cold milk is wonderful. Some people think it is odd that I prefer no sauce or that I do not add lots of spice to everything. Others tell me that salt makes all foods more flavorful...but I am glad of my range in taste. I can truly enjoy it all.
But in keeping with my experience of nothingness...why did I make fancier mashed potatoes tonight rather than a simpler, easier and more bland variety? The reason I am thinking about this...is in a strange context, but the only one I can seem to care about: what if I were making them for my family when I have a family. I have always liked the idea of learning to cook for the simple reason of feeding a family. I know simple foods that nourish me are sufficient to me...and I used to think it did not matter what I made for a kid or husband as long as they liked it and were healthy. As I have met more and more people during my life I have come to realize how important the question of "is it as good as your mother's?" can be for real. People always talk about their mother's cooking skills or lack thereof. I do not know what it does for a person...but I really like the idea of having my future kids actually like my cooking.
This wish aside, I found myself making these mashed potatoes without thought, no thinking about how much extra work it would be or how it would taste...and no thought about whether I was doing anything right. I was playing...having fun...experimenting...and this was pleasurable.
So as I boiled the baby red potatoes cut into small pieces but with their skin still on...I chopped some garlic and fresh rosemary...then I grabbed the milk and my Parmesan cheese from the fridge...I did not want to use my new carton of half and half (because I wanted to enjoy opening it as I made my coffee in the morning)...and then I grabbed the butter AND the olive oil...I probably was patting myself on the back for this idea...but I put the garlic and rosemary in a bowl with some olive oil...and then, what the heck, I added the Parmesan, some salt and some pepper...(I was also cooking corn on the cob and a cheese-curd brat at the same time, and they were all done at the same time...I was very happy with myself)...when the potatoes were soft, I strained them and pored some milk in the now empty pot...and threw in some butter...as it heated slowly I added the oil mixture...the sauce was a nice yellow color and I brought the potatoes back for a swim...I thought there was too much milk...but as I began to mash, mash, mash...the creamy texture that emerged was so beautiful...I think I stood up straighter...a little more salt on top...and they were heaven...I finished all of them...and couldn't fit the last bite of meat...which just seems so wrong!
I was pleased with the experiment...and hope to make them again for myself or others...I want to make it seem easy...do it with grace...poise...confidence and without thinking it is too much work. This means that I want quality to be an expectation that I uphold when doing things as simple as mashing potatoes! But it is so easy to create the boundaries of an experience when it is simple and short. I had potatoes...they may go bad if I do not use them...I paid for them...I should make them when I am hungry...and I am hungry (or at least in need of food) now...so it is a choice that seems easy...but there was an impetus that I felt was outside of myself for such an act. I couldn't choose to keep the potatoes in eatable condition forever...and my body wanted food. Something HAD to be done.
I want to stop...or should I say I want to stand up and go downstairs to get more wine...or ice cream or both? So I look forward to the next bizarre rambling of my mind...but just hope it is as inspired as mashed potatoes.
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