If you read my last post, you’ll know I committed to making mashed potatoes for the annual Thanksgiving dinner at the park. And boy, did I make some mashed potatoes.
The bowl ended up dwarfing everything else on the table. Someone even said, “I see we have enough mashed potatoes.” The ones who heard giggled.
I ended up making about 10 pounds after a heated debate regarding how many potatoes would be required. I had initially purchased 5 pounds, but the park chef said that was too little. He would suggest 15.
Sue said 5 pounds would be enough, and that made me happy, because I didn’t have to go to the store again. And if there weren’t enough potatoes, I could point at Sue and run away, throwing chairs in my wake so no one could easily follow me.
I had a plan.
Well, like all excellent plans, this one hadn’t worked out exactly as I’d hoped.
The dinner was last Saturday, but the Friday night before I decided to hang out at the clubhouse and play poker. One of my favorite things is throwing money into a hole, but this is better because I at least get to play a game.
Saturday morning, I woke up nestled into bed, wearing my boots, there were potatoes everywhere, my head felt like a large man was sitting on it, the tv was blaring in the other room, and my dog was standing over me with a potato in his mouth.
I swear he was laughing.
After a couple of hours of what I like to call “the worst imaginable hell,” it was time to go to the store. With one eye open, I stumbled my way there, growled at various people, objects, the sun, my stupidity, etc.
Now it was time to cook. And that was great, because I was in a total cooking for 30 people kind of mood. The good people at the park offered up the restaurant kitchen, because my kitchen consists of a hot plate, a toaster oven and a microwave, none of which can be turned on when another is.
I live alone, so it’s completely adequate for me. How many different ways can you make Pop Tarts, anyway?
So now I’m in the prepping stage of the project, which is basically staring at a pile of potatoes hating everything. Thankfully, Sue came in to check on the turkey and offered some peeling assistance. I accepted. It was like watching Edward Scissorhands.
Me: I don’t know what happened, but I was so trashed last night. I apologize if I said or did anything stupid.
Sue: Oh no. You were fine. I think it was the Jager shots that did it.
Me: The Jager what?
Sue: The Jager shots.
Me: I did Jager shots?
Sue: … yeaahh …
Me: (thinking maybe she didn’t hear the question) I did Jager shots?
Clearly, Sue must have been mistaken. I don’t even like the stuff. However, it would explain… ummm… EVERYTHING.
I think the potatoes were pretty good. They didn’t have lumps, though they weren’t as creamy as I would have liked. I think it was the Elmer’s. I’ve seen food artists use it and I thought it would make them look nicer.
All in all, it was a great night. The food made without glue was excellent. And despite wanting to curl up into a ball and cry myself to sleep, I decided to play team trivia and bludgeon my self-esteem.
Did you know that the city with the largest population below the equator is not Canada?
I continue to be amazed by the sense of family here. The great thing is that this was just another in many days during the year when food is piled onto a table and friends are celebrated.
At The Dip, we are always giving thanks.
(Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!)