Mindful
Diamond Member
- Banned
- #1
Everyone has a woman in their life who introduced them to the glory of Mashed Potatoes. Mashed potatoes are proof that there is a God and he loves us. Those who suggests otherwise will be impaled on a stake at the Apocalypse and damned to eat kale for eternity. The white fluffiness, creamy butter, salt and gravy are glorious tastes that only heathens could deny.
Sure, the backward parts of the World were demons reign you’ll find more worship of rice, corn or wheat. But in my book a good spud is, as the Irish say, Yer Man.
Take the tuber and roast it, bake it or fry it, and it is damned delicious. But there is no greater calling than the call to the table for a bit of mash. My grandmother’s mash is more memorable to me than how she wore her hair. My mother’s mash a pot of beauty. My father in law, an old Irish farmer, damns restaurants that don’t serve mashed spuds with the wide-eyed fervor of an Old Testament Prophet. I’ve known comrades who won’t talk at dinner until they’ve finished their mash…what conversation could be more important?
The appeal of the peeled spud crosses generations, religous and political lines. Sure, he Spaniards brought some gold back from Peru in their conquests, but no treasure was as rich as the domestic potato which they introduced to Europe.
The apples of the Earth as the Frogs say (if they spoke English) are the main ingredient of this simple yet beautiful comfort food. I’m having some right now. Envy me.
A Tangled Web » Blog Archive » The Glory of Her Mash
Sure, the backward parts of the World were demons reign you’ll find more worship of rice, corn or wheat. But in my book a good spud is, as the Irish say, Yer Man.
Take the tuber and roast it, bake it or fry it, and it is damned delicious. But there is no greater calling than the call to the table for a bit of mash. My grandmother’s mash is more memorable to me than how she wore her hair. My mother’s mash a pot of beauty. My father in law, an old Irish farmer, damns restaurants that don’t serve mashed spuds with the wide-eyed fervor of an Old Testament Prophet. I’ve known comrades who won’t talk at dinner until they’ve finished their mash…what conversation could be more important?
The appeal of the peeled spud crosses generations, religous and political lines. Sure, he Spaniards brought some gold back from Peru in their conquests, but no treasure was as rich as the domestic potato which they introduced to Europe.
The apples of the Earth as the Frogs say (if they spoke English) are the main ingredient of this simple yet beautiful comfort food. I’m having some right now. Envy me.
A Tangled Web » Blog Archive » The Glory of Her Mash
