So I just participated in my first fish fry here at the nudist park, and I must say, mmmmmmmmmm… I like fried things. I think you can fry just about anything and I’m on board.
“What’s that? Fried IKEA furniture? I’m in.”
I can go on and on about this place, and I will, because I’m writing about it and this blog is pretty much about that. So if you’re all, “Enough about how awesome this place is!” then I’ll just have to tell you that’s what you can expect. So there.
This Saturday is an early Thanksgiving dinner, and even though it’s cold outside, people are coming to spend time with their friends at “The Dip.” It’s because this place is more than just a place where people come to shed their clothes, but a place they come to shed their problems.
I’m bringing the mashed potatoes. There’s a sign up sheet listing who will come and what they’ll bring, and shockingly, no mashed potatoes.
At first I thought, “Is this Russia?”
Then I thought, “Does Russia have mashed potatoes?”
Then I thought, “Probably.”
Then I thought, “Who is bringing the mashed potatoes!?”
Then I thought, “I will bring the mashed potatoes.”
Then I thought, “How do you make mashed potatoes?”
Then I thought, “I probably shouldn’t have said I would bring the mashed potatoes.”
Now I have to figure it out. I know there are potatoes in it and I’m fairly sure there is some kind of mashing process that one has to perform.
I figure butter is probably in there, and I’ll toss in some flour, baking soda, and whatever I find that’s white and powdery. They are going to be awesome.
See what I’m doing here? I’m lowering potato expectations. Everyone will expect my potatoes to be awful, so all I need to do is make them marginally okay and people will enjoy them.
Cooking is 50% recipe, 50% expectation management. I learned that when I thought of it.
I heard that if you use cream you’ll get a creamier texture than if you use milk, but I only have French vanilla creamer. I’m going to use that. It’s kind of sweet and that way I won’t have to use sugar or chocolate chips.
Seriously, these are going to be the best potatoes ever. They’ll sing songs about them.
“Potatoes…. potatoes… potatoes…”
I’ll finish the rest of it later. Football is on and I’m not in the mood to compose an excellent song.
Anyway, Saturday. The cold weather is upon us, but the fun doesn’t end.
Just another thing I love about this wonderful place.