Freshly dug potatoes (istockphoto)
I love a good spud. I have done since I was a kid. Mashed potato was always a firm favourite. I would look forward to it so much – on the side of a casserole, or a Sunday roast lunch – that i’d be close to tears if it turned out to be lumpy.
If I could see it was a rush job when my mother was making it – because she was plating up six meals, getting five people to the table, and dealing with the last minute chaos of preparing a large family meal – I’d get fidgety and anxious. Continue reading
