November, 2001
Mashed Potatoes!
This year, it was my turn to make the mashed potatoes for Thanksgiving dinner. Mashed potatoes were always the best part of the feast, smoothed in creamy gravy and a blob of butter on the side. Yep, mashed potatoes are the best, that is if you don't have to prepare it for your mom's other 30 Thanksgiving guests.
So first of all mom gave me a 50 lb. sack of potatoes to peel, boil, add milk and butter, and most importantly, mash. The only reason I even volunteered to make the mashed potatoes was so mom wouldn't groun me, but this was major overkill. How was I supposed to do all of that by myself? Couldn't my little brother or cousin help me? Nope. I had to do it all by myself.
As the hours went by, it felt like I had peeled a thousand potatoes. My hands hurt, and I had a zillion little cuts from the sharp peeler I was using.
I finished peeling the skins of the potatoes and took out a monster-size pot to boil water in, and when I was filling it up, I nearly fell asleep since it took so long to fill all the whole pot. But, I remember, I got 30 other people to feed tonight and I can't be lazy!
Now I let the potatoes boil for a spell as I went downstairs to watch fooltball with my dad and cousins. Later on, I came back upstairs to find that the potates had boiled nicely, and were ready to mash! I pulled out the masher and started mashing and banging the potatoes and pot loudly. I walded over to the fridge to grab the milk and butter. Still smashing crazily, I began pouring in the whole gallon of milk and dropped in the butter which both sunk right into the potatoes.
Ta da! There, I had all the mashed potatoes mom's guests could eat. I put the potatoes on the counter to cool off as I cleaned up the potato peelings from before.
Suddenly as I washed all the peelings down the sink, the pot with all of the mashed potatoes started making weird noises that sounded like when my dad burps.
I take baby steps towards the pot, the burping sounds stops. Mashed potatoes start bubbling and foaming out of the pot. The top of the pot bursts off and mashed potates fly all over the kitchen and all over me.
The mashed potatoes still keep zooming across the air. There are splatters of mashed potato everywhere. I look around the kitchen. I look at the pot. As I stare at the pot, an enormous wave of mashed potates came wisking out of the pot. It climbed as high as the ceiling, and finally covered the whole kitchen in a milky layer of mashed potatoes. Mom comes running in and looks at me. I am drenched in mashed potatoes, just like the kitchen.
"Sam, what happened to my kitchen!" she cried. She lectures me about responsible cooking, and makes me clean all of my mess up, with my mouth!
by Sam