Mashed potatoes

MASHED POTATOES SO GOOD, YOU'LL WANT TASTE BUDS IN YOUR ASSHOLE SO YOU CAN TASTE THEM AGAIN ON THE WAY OUT
recipe by Zeal An

To make mashed potatoes, you have options in the potato sector. To make good mashed potatoes, you don't. You'll go to the store and see the huge brown hideous ugly potatoes, and you'll see the prettier, more expensive tiny potatoes in all sorts of rainbow colors, and you'll think, hey, they're fancier, they'll make better mashed potatoes. And then you'll be wrong, because the huge brown hideous ugly potatoes are better. They turn out smoother and tastier and don't ask me why, just do it.

So first bring a huge pot of water to a boil. While you're waiting for it to boil, you could take your huge brown hideous ugly potatoes and peel them and likely cut yourself with the vegetable peeler, and then your mashed potatoes would taste like blood, and if that's something you're into, I fully encourage that. Or you can peel them after they've been boiled when they're soft and easy to work with, and so dump your potatoes in your now-boiling water, and while they're boiling, I dunno, read a book or something.

Make sure you boil the hell out of your potatoes. Make sure they're soft and squishy and fall apart more easily than your knowledge of algebra over the course of one summer break. This isn't the time for that al dente hoopla, because a) what did I just tell you about making those potatoes soft, and b) al dente is for pasta, you twit. You're going to be mashing them anyway and you might as well make life easier for yourself. Mashed potatoes are supposed to be a delightful and creamy gloop and if your potatoes still have a bite to them, your mash will still have a bite to it, and that would be like licking a delicious cool ice cream cone and finding large chunks of cat feces and sadness. Once the potatoes are boiled sufficiently, peel them, because you promised to and I don't want to lose my trust in you, now do I.

Now get a colander and dump the whole thing in there. Let the water strain and you'll end up with potato chunks, which should be literally falling apart. Dump the potato chunks back in the pot and begin stirring. You'll cook out the rest of the excess water and also break up the potatoes even more, eventually ending up with a paste. Is this paste mashed potatoes? Hell no! To turn it into mashed potatoes, you still have to add butter and cream. Lots. Many. Many butter and many cream. Drown your potatoes in that cream. Hear them begging for mercy before asphyxiating in the rich, fatty goodness that is melted butter and cream. Also add salt, because you are not an asshole.

Eat with sour cream, if you like sour cream like I do. Add something pretty and green if you like. Chives are classic; green onions are tasty. Or don't. I won't be offended.

Enjoy your mashed potatoes alongside turkey on Thanksgiving, with meatloaf on not Thanksgiving, because who the hell eats meatloaf on Thanksgiving, or just straight out of the damn bowl, because they are delicious and rich and creamy and smooth and delightful, and they taste like rainbows and happiness and all that is good in the world, and then remember to schedule an appointment to fly to a clinic in Sweden and undergo surgery to get those taste buds implanted in your butt.