Mashed Spuds with Grace!
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I’m not sure how I found the A Southern Grace blog last year, but I can tell you that every post is mouth-watering-goodness, straight from Grace’s kitchen. Grace is a southern girl, living in upstate New York, who really, really, really, knows how to cook. So take a peek at her blog. I think you just might want to save it to your favorites!
If I had to pick one food that reminds me of my home and childhood, it would be mashed potatoes. Home, creamy home. Specifically, they make me think of lunches at my grandma’s house. Often she would be charged with preparing food for whoever happened to be working on the farm that day, and I helped out whenever I could.
We’re not talking sandwiches here, folks. We’re talking baked steaks or pork chops, along with cornbread and an assortment of sides, such as peas & dumplins, green beans or brown beans, corn on the cob or hominy, baked apples, fried squash, potatoes in white sauce or, my favorite, mashed po-tah-toes.
It always fell to me to take care of the mashed taters since I loved them so. I washed (guess what–they’re filthy when they come out of the ground!), peeled, sliced, cooked, flavored (butter, milk, salt, and pepper–our holy quartet for mashed potato goodness), and mashed (with an old-school masher, of course) ’em myself.
It didn’t take long for my grandpa to start calling me Tater, and he does so to this day. I think it gives him pleasure to see me enjoying a product that he took from start to (almost) finish. For wailing out loud, the man is 85 years old and he still goes out and plants, tends to, and digs up his potatoes–he’s darn proud of his crop, as he should be!
So that’s my history with mashed spuds. They’re never as good as they are when I’m sitting at my grandma’s table, surrounded by the folks I love. Never.
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