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Showing posts from September, 2014

What the hell is a potato ricer?

I'm at the beginning again, which inevitably means I'm reminiscing about all the other beginnings  (see my last post). 

While searching for music and books in the middle of the night in my lonely old house, I remembered Nora Ephron. She can help. She wrote endlessly about divorce and cooking (as cooking for one is a constant reminder of your failed relationship thus forever connected). 

Here's an excerpt:

Nothing like mashed potatoes when you're feeling blue. Nothing like getting into bed with a bowl of hot mashed potatoes already loaded with butter, and methodically adding a thin cold slice of butter to every forkful. The problem with mashed potatoes, though, is that they require almost as much hard work as crisp potatoes, and when you're feeling blue the last thing you feel like is hard work. Of course, you can always get someone to make the mashed potatoes for you, but let's face it: the reason you're blue is that there isn't anyone to make them for …