I am as we speak making my first-ever batch of mashed potatoes.
I'm so unfamiliar with making mashed potatoes that I'm not even sure "batch" is the correct word to use. I'm just going to roll with it.
One of my friends is throwing a belated, London-based Thanksgiving dinner tonight, and I was put in charge of potatoes. I've been taking this responsibility very seriously for days. I bought the best kind of potatoes for this (Maris Piper). I bought milk and butter and garlic cloves and freakin' chives.
What I did not plan out - it occurs to me, as I sit here right in the thick of the experience - is the size of my biggest pot. Which is definitely big enough to just barely accommodate half of the 3kg of potatoes I purchased. Something tells me 1.5kg is not going to fit the estimated 14 people showing up to this dinner. Thank goodness there will be other food (I mean, with everyone bringing a dish, it's unlikely anyone's going home hungry tonight).
On a happier note, I'm really looking forward to this dinner. I love that the concept of Thanksgiving - and really, the spirit of gratitude with it - has crossed the Atlantic and that my Canadian and Bulgarian friends are hosting a dinner that will include not just a few Americans, but at least one Indian, several Brits, a Portuguese, several Italians, and more. I love that we can be open to each other's cultures and traditions and dive whole-heartedly into the experience like this. Isn't that kind of what the holiday season should be about anyway?
Oh God, why isn't this water boiling? Why are these potatoes still so hard? I'm already running late!
Ok, I better go.
My potatoes are calling.