Mashed potatoes and I have a strange relationship. okay to be fair, it may not be that the potatoes have a relationship with me. I mean they’ve been cooked to death, squashed until they’re piles of mashed potato min do on a plate. I really don’t think they are up for a relationship, certainly not with me. I, on the other hand, do have a relationship with them.
I suppose I enjoyed them enough as a young child. I mean who doesn’t love food you can play with and sculpt into whatever your heart desires? But as I got older I lost the simple pleasures of this. And somewhere along the line, in my life anyway, bad news began to be equated with mashed potatoes.
I know what you are thinking, no way that’s possible. But for a stretch in my life, it seemed every time I was given bad news, like hey you have lupus, the meal I was having had mashed potatoes. Frankly it got weird. I mean I saw them being prepared or on my plate and I’d start to feel anxious.
This wouldn’t be an issue, except Beloved holds the potato sacred. He believes eating it in a variety of forms is a way of honouring the humble and powerful potato. Yes this includes being mashed. Especially mashed because evidently he is still into sculpting his meal.
While I can’t place my finger on things, I’ve had a feeling all day that something was going a bit wonky. Naturally when I see potatoes, in the mashed variety, upon the plate Beloved is carrying, I assume the worst. Such as his cancer is back. Or he has heart problems. Wait, maybe he’s leaving me, hey there is only so much one man can out up with.
So I waited. And I watched he started to use his fork to make whimsical designs in the potato. Still I waited as he started to eat. Eat the mashed potato as if it was nothing. How could he miss the omen on the plates, and in his mouth? Finally, after giving me a strange look, he out his fork down, reached across the table and said “what’s got you thinking so hard”.
I pointed, unable to speak because surely this is where the bad news comes. He sighed, smiled gently and said, “I had to use them up before they went off and I love a good mash now and then. If you won’t be eating yours, I will have them.” And that was it. Extra mashed potatoes for him and a strange sense of what just happened for me.