Most my life I've hated mashed potato. I still have vestigial fear coursing through my veins even now when Anne suggests it. I think of primary school and those ice-cream scoops of cold potatoes with lumps. Embedded sick-inducing lipomas of ummash.
My nan, grammar school and Chris Burgess have served to give me dystopian Proustian flashbacks since that time. And Paula was once so determined not to give us lumpen mashed potato that she sweetly whipped the dickens out of a vat of tats and ended up serving us glue instead.
And all this time all anyone's really needed is a potato ricer...bish, bash, bosh, smooth and creamy, job done.
Should anyone out there feel like coming on and professing their deep-seated love of lumpy mash, you should know I had enough of you when you came on here getting all chuddy about custard-skin, you fricking perverts. I suggest you tootle off to www.sickofuckingfoodies.com, nothing to see here...
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