One of my Dad’s favorite food stories to tell is about the time he took the whole young family (me, my three-siblings and my mom) to a phenomenal four-star French restaurant 40 stories up in one of Chicago’s iconic skyscrapers. During the meal, the waiter served my dad an expertly executed rack of lamb, then made the rounds doing table side service of the chef’s flawless potato puree (or, mashed potatoes). The waiter dolloped a delicate swoop of puree on my dad’s plate, with flair, and this warning: “And don’t you dare ask for more.”
If you have my first book, you’ve already heard this story, but it perfectly exemplifies how my family feels about a creamy mash, completely lump-less, and luxuriating in butter and cream. But, a flawless mash doesn’t always need to error on total decadence to taste divine.
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