f
or four years during college, I didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving with my family. I went to school in Canada and we always had class on Thanksgiving Day. One year, on the fourth Thursday in November, the craving for Thanksgiving food was just too great to bear. I was living with three Canadians and one other American at the time, and the American roommate felt the same way. So we decided we’d make mashed potatoes.
Slight problem: Neither of us had ever made mashed potatoes. We also didn’t own a single cookbook, nor did we have internet in our apartment. It didn’t seem that hard though, so we boiled a bunch of potatoes, mashed them up and got ready to feast. No butter, no milk, not even
a pinch of salt—these details didn’t occur to us. We literally just mashed potatoes. Obviously they tasted terrible, and it made me miss Thanksgiving with my family even more.
Mashed potatoes are a fascinating thing: They’re simple and unassuming, but on Thanksgiving they’re catapulted to stardom, and the day wouldn’t be complete without them. (This issue wouldn’t be complete without them either—see page 61!) I truly don’t think my family would care if we skipped the cranberry sauce or the green beans or even the mashed potatoes on the table, people might stage a walkout. It’s a nonnegotiable part of the menu.
So this year, like every year, we’ll have a big bowl of buttery mashed potatoes on our Thanksgiving table. They’ll be classic, cozy and carby, and they’ll make everyone feel thankful. My husband will make them, because the kids say his mashed potatoes are better than mine. He was the roommate who mashed potatoes with me back in the day—I guess we’ve both learned a thing or two since then!
Liz Sgroi
Executive Director
mashed potatoes: Levi Brown. portrait: Kristen Hazzard.