Mashed Potatoes and My Grandfather Mark Milestones in My Life
My grandfather, Da, is an Irishman to his very core, down to what I refer to him as. He was a quiet rebel in his years of catholic schooling and I would say that his personality has only developed more into that as he has aged. I grew up listening to stories of his hitch hiking across the country and getting picked up by the founder of the now massive franchise, McDonalds; fighting off bears; friends losing fingers to snowmobiles- just to name a few things that could only happen to Da. I know that biologically, he is not my grandfather, because he is my mother’s stepdad- but that is the lifeless, scientific hierarchy of what family is defined as. Family means so much more than that, especially because Da has contributed so much more to my childhood and shaped me into the person I am today like no one else could. For all intensive purposes and to be ignorant in the face of what a family unit “technically” is, Da is my grandfather.
Picture a little girl walking up to the wheel of a boat that holds all of her loved ones, where her grandfather is steering. Everything in the world is right in this very moment in time, and her family, rocked in the tremendous arms of the ocean in their tiny boat, sleeps peacefully. Suddenly her grandfather lifts his hands from the wheel, and the boat is free to move wherever the wind and waves take it. The little girl throws herself forward and clutches onto the wheel as though her life and the lives of the unconscious people aboard that she loves depends on it. She is horrified to hear her grandfather howling with laughter at what he has done, and she struggles to get a grip with the fact that he has finally lost his mind. I can pin the moment I decided that I could handle anything that was thrown at me to this very instance. My grandfather eventually leaned forward to help me once it became clear that he had taken his joke too far by the tears streaming down my face- I would also like to attribute this instance as being the start of when I would start to grow thick skin. Even though he can be tough, he kneeled down to gently wipe my tears away and reassure me that I was capable of doing whatever I wanted to, and not even necessarily fearlessly, but so long as I was able to face whatever my fears were. This is just one of the valuable lessons Da passed onto me, words of encouragement that were so simple but so powerful, that I carry around with me to this day.
When I asked him if mashed potatoes could be considered a meal in and of themselves, he was almost astonished that I was not able to answer this question for myself. In Ireland, mashed potatoes apparently are considered the centerpiece of the plate, and proteins and other commodities are merely embellishments. Da has channeled that same sort of respect directly into his own rendition of the mashed potatoes of Ireland. I think that explains why I hold something as simple and otherwise ordinary as something you do not even have to chew in such high regards. When I asked Da why he thought that his mashed potatoes were my favorite meal, his response was, “you know that I prepare the dish with lots of love… and lots of butter”. Butter does make everything better, and I do not think that anything is made with as much love as my Da makes his mashed potatoes with.
They are his identity in the kitchen, the first thing that comes to his mind, something comforting and familiar, while being out of this world. His mashed potatoes are not powder sealed in a plastic pouch collecting dust on the top shelf of aisle 8 where dry, preservative-loaded food in the grocery store sadly resides. They do not congeal into a thick, shiny paste when mixed with water, like some sort of putty that sucks back into itself when you have dipped your fork in and pulled it back out just to take an unimpressed, subconscious bite. I have just described to you what experience you might have had eating mashed potatoes from a box. This experience is wrong, and might bring Da to tears if he was aware of the fact that this a form of eating mashed potatoes that people actually, unfortunately, partake in. My grandfather would not even refer to that space food as mashed potatoes, and when he reads this essay he will probably be insulted that I did- my apologies Da, it will not happen again.
To make up for the horrible truth I have just revealed to him, I will try to explain what mashed potatoes should be, and try to do his mashed potatoes in particular justice. I cannot promise that you will ever be able to recreate the experience of eating Da’s mashed potatoes, but you can try, and certainly be inspired to avoid the space food, at a minimum. What are mashed potatoes without potatoes? Maybe some sort of milk, an assortment of seasonings, and lots of butter. The potatoes themselves though, and the particular kinds you use, are crucial in making this a harmonious, tantalizing combination of ingredients. The foundation of his mashed potatoes are a combination of both Russet Burbank and Yukon Gold, half one and half of the other. I also learned that Da is naturally skilled in mathematics because when I asked him if he follows a strict recipe, he told me that “nothing is measured per say”, but proceeded to inform me that he used a fourth of a pound of butter for every five potatoes. He is either a genius with numbers, or I am even less of a math person than I originally thought I was, because I was impressed by the formula Da uses to measure. I also think that he has mastered the culinary art of making mashed potatoes partly because it is just his Irish nature, but practice makes perfect, and they are something that he has made a lot.
Then there are all of the ingredients you do not see that are woven gently through the warm golden glow of the mashed potatoes. They work their magic humbly and in secret with your tastebuds only. A key distinction is the kind of pepper Da uses- white pepper, not black pepper. Just because you do not see it does not mean you do not taste it, “the creepiness of the black flecks has just been eliminated”, as Da put it. Nutmeg and ginger and a plethora of other spices also find their way into the mix, enhancing the flavors by making them richer and the savoriness stand out. The spices work the way that salt on caramel does- those two things bring out the best in one another. I can hear the faint sounds of the potatoes boiling in the splashing water doing a sort of jig. I can smell the creaminess of the half and half and the starchiness of the potatoes themselves. Throughout the years, these attributes of Da’s mashed potatoes have not changed, and it feels as though time has stood still when I make them with him.
My duties in the kitchen to prepare this dish started off with a little girl who stood on a step stool and scrubbed potatoes besides Da’s lumbering, plaid claiden figure. Now, I am a growing adult, as much as it does not feel like it. I do not just observe and handle the most mundane of things, and my responsibilities as Da’s sou chef have increased in their importance to really helping make the dish. I like to think that this progression somehow indicates where I have gotten to in life. I do not just sit back and comfortably observe what happens around me like I once did back then. Now when I eat those mashed potatoes, it takes me back to my childhood, simpler times. While I fall more and more in love with them each time I eat them, easing into the comfort and nostalgia they bring, things are more complicated now. Even though things are not as simple, I almost love my life more because of all of the bad experience that has made the good so much better. I look forward to the future, just like I look forward to dining on Da’s mashed potatoes.
The Recipe
The ingredients are really what is key for the mashed potatoes to be as good as I think they are
- Nothing is measured per say
- 2 types of potatoes: this is very important
- Russet Burbank and Yukon Gold
- Half and half of each
- Russet Burbank and Yukon Gold
- Butter- lots and lots of butter
- Specifically, a 1/4 lb for every 5 potatoes
- Half and half is the milk ingredient of choice (not whipping cream or milk)
- Add just enough for a creamy consistency
- Seasonings kosher onion salt, white pepper, garlic, just a pinch of nutmeg, ginger and probably some other aromatic spices I could not type up fast enough
Other than that, Da just kind of throws them together with lots of love. I wish I could offer more solid advice, but he has forgotten what it is like to not know how to make mashed potatoes. I think he just feels it out, and he has gotten more comfortable with doing that as he has gotten older, to the point of where he does not even have to concentrate all that much on the task at hand. You just have to dive right in, and be willing to make a mess.
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