As I mentioned in an earlier blog posting, Max (Blake) was with us a week before Christmas during his break from university. He came down for Marjorie Braund’s funeral and stayed with us until the Friday. Whilst he was here Jon got him into the kitchen to prepare the sweet potatoes for dinner one night, and a little secret emerged. Max had never cooked potatoes before, let alone mashed them. I must admit that I have never mashed sweet potatoes before either, but considering the process is pretty much the same – stick masher in saucepan and pulverise the little tubers into submission – I found myself giving an impromptu cookery lesson to the dear boy.
All was going reasonably well until my potato masher started to bend rather alarmingly. This has been going on for some months, but I am used to the little critter behaving in such a recalcitrant manner. I did warn Max that this might happen - just in case he thought it was a sign that his young muscles were impressively strong. I am not convinced that he believed me though so when it did start to bend as if by some otherworldly power he looked a bit askance. Jon, of course, couldn’t resist wickedly blaming the bent metal on him and exclaimed “How could you do that to Corinna’s potato masher?” Well that was the gist of it, even though I must embarrassingly admit that, if my memory serves me well, it was phrased slightly differently and in a way that Max is well used to by now.
Anyway, the sweet potatoes were mashed with a delicate profusion of milk and butter and were absolutely delicious. I think Max actually enjoyed himself whilst preparing this part of our supper.
Yesterday, I received a package in the post. I was completely dumbfounded as to what it could be as I was not expecting anything. Upon opening it out popped a brand, spanking new potato masher.
Thanks Max – you dear, sweet lad.
Next visit I will introduce you to the ironing board and Jon’s larger than average shirts.