How to mash a goddamned potato

Literally. This is not a metaphor.

Unnerved though I was by the vitriol unleashed by stating the five best TV themes of all time, I thought I’d dip my toe into being controversially opinionated again.

I’m going to tell you how to make mashed potato, because I’m pretty good at it.

Now: you should be aware this is not the kind of thing I generally say. I’m a man of a certain age — Gen X, and proud of it — largely raised in England. It is not in a gentleman’s nature to blow one’s own trumpet. In general we’re far more likely to deny we even possess a trumpet, or musical implement of any kind, and if enquiries persist we may sneak out in the dead of night to bury the alleged instrument in the woods after first battering it out of all recognizability with a hammer. Even within men of my stripe I’m considered an outlier in refusing to claim distinction. It’s simply not done. And it’s not like I’m an expert cook, or even a notably competent one.

However: I have it on on decent authority (in the shape of my wife and son, neither of whom are pushovers) that I mash a good potato — and so I’m going to share that deep ancestral wisdom with you. Not so that seventy people can furiously roll up their sleeves and tell me why I’m wrong about everything, again, but in the hope instead that you’ll come back in the comments with a skill — culinary or otherwise — where you have surprising game, and tips you’re willing to share.

Okay. Strap in.

Boiling the potatoes

1. First, buy some. Important first step. I personally use the same ones that I’d use for baking. Those big, sturdy guys. Russets, or in the UK, a King Edward. Not sure what they’d be elsewhere. For what follows, I’m going to assume you’re doing it with three large potatoes of that style, enough for 3-4 people.

2. Peel them.

3. Cut them into bits. You don’t want massive chunks (to be confident they’re boiled through) or too small (edges get watery, so better not to have too many). I cut them once lengthwise, then the resultant halves into thirds or quarters.

4. Put them in a pan, cover well with water. Turn on the heat.

5. Once the water comes up to the boil, turn it down so the pan remains lively but is unlikely to send splashes of water everywhere. Go have a beer.

6. Pop back to stir the potatoes once in a while.

7. After about 15 minutes of actual boiling, start to check the potatoes every couple of minutes with a fork — pushing the tines into the thickest part. You want it to feel pretty soft, but do not let them get so that they’re falling apart. If they’re still firm, keep boiling. If the first is soft, try another, and then another — make sure they’re all cooked through, not just the first you tried. That’s a newbie mistake.

8. DO NOT leave it until they’re getting mushy (because that’ll get too much water into the mix) but you make sure every single chunk is well and truly cooked.

Steam the potatoes

Once they’re done, take the potatoes off and drain them in a colander. A lot of steam will come off. This is good. Better than good. This is absolutely ESSENTIAL. There are two key ways of fucking up a mash: not cooking the potatoes long enough, so there are hard little bits left that no amount of mashing will solve; or not letting them steam. The direst enemy of good mash is water — it makes it claggy and gloopy and there is absolutely no way of fixing that. Throw it away. Order a pizza.

So: let the chunks steam for five minutes. Then stir them around, and let them steam some more. You can even do this one more time. You don’t have to wait until they’re cold, but seriously, the more water you release the better the mash will be.

Pre-mash the potatoes

Put them back in the pan. Then:

1. Mash them first, with (you guessed it) a potato masher. DO NOT get straight in there with the butter. Crush those things, slowly, doggedly, thoroughly. It’s likely a little more steam may come off. This is good.

2. Only then go in with the butter, but first...

Let’s talk about the butter

Something you’re just going to have accept is that great mash needs a shit-ton of butter: fancy French dudes like Joël Robuchon deploy amounts that’d make your head spin (and also use a ricer for the next part). There’s a school of thought that says you can augment with milk or heavy cream, and there are times when that works, which I’ll return to. But for your baseline mash, stick with butter.

You want real butter, too — European-style, which has a 2-5% higher fat content than American. That extra fat leads to better consistency, helps transport flavor, and improves mouth feel. In the US, use something like Kerrygold. Not that pale, flaky crap.

For the three potatoes we’re working with, you’re going to need at least a stick — in the UK, that’s half of one of the regular pats. I feel no shame in using a stick and a half. Hell, I’ve probably used two at some point. I am a natural-born outlaw.

Then REALLY mash the potatoes

1. Cut the butter into the pre-mashed potatoes, in slivers or little chunks.

2. Add a big pinch of Malden Salt. This is optional, especially if you’re using salted butter, which I always do. But the truth is that potatoes, like eggs, only truly shine if there’s a little salt in the mix.

3. Get your heaviest wooden spoon, one that’s not going to snap, because...

4. You’re going to beat those potatoes up. You cannot merely gently stir them around, like leaves floating idly around an autumnal pond, beneath a sky across which a lone goose flies, its honk a keening song of melancholy. You need to kick the crap out of them. Hard strokes, round and round, getting faster, then going back the other way, and also jagging back and forth across the pan, deliberately bashing the mash against the side, continually. Make sure you’re scraping up the stuff that’s in the corners and incorporating that. You are not only mixing, you’re using brute force to break down the potato so that it and the butter become the same stuff at an almost cellular level. This is not cooking. It’s alchemy. And hard work.

5. Do this for as long as your arms will let you.

6. Take a quick breather.

7. Do it some more. And then some more.

8. You pretty much can’t over-do this. Let all that buried violence and frustration out. You know you want to. Fuck those spuds up.

Serving

Eventually, if you follow all of the above, you will have some real mashed potatoes. If this happens to be ideally timed for the rest of the food, great — just serve it out. You’re done. Enjoy.

If not, put the pan back on the stove, and the lid on. You can now leave it there for as long as you want. Ten minutes, half an hour. An hour. It’s fine. Knowing which vegetables are tolerant is key to preparing banner meals like Christmas Day or Thanksgiving: if you boil sprouts, for example, you can drain and cover tightly with aluminum foil and those bad boys will still be piping hot 45 minutes later. You don’t have to have everything magically ready at the same time. Pick the elements that are not so forgiving (like roast potatoes) and work everything else around them.

The only question then is how to reheat the mash. Well, you take the lid off and turn the heat on. You’ll notice the mash has become stiff, and may be tempted to loosen it with some milk or cream. DO NOT DO THAT. It’s stiff because the integrated butter has cooled and hardened. It will soften back to where it was when you finished mashing, inextricably mixed with the potato, as it returns to temperature.

So warm it, stirring a little until it starts to move, then stirring more, and harder. Feel free to give it another good kicking, in fact. Vigor is your friend. You’ll know it’s getting back to eating point when it starts to come away in a ball from the sides of the pan as you stir it round and round. Keep going a little longer.

You can, if you want, ignore what I said above and loosen it at this stage with a little cream (not milk, it’s too watery, remember what I said about that). But I’d only ever do this if the secondary dairy element was bringing added value — if you’d reduced a little heavy cream while simmering roast garlic in it, for example, or some parmesan, or even (this goes well with steak) some blue cheese. But really, butter is the thing, and its blessed union with the humble potato is what makes mash the food of kings.

That’s a lot of words. Here’s…

The TL;DR

1. Make sure all chunks of potato are throughly cooked. Far better to boil them a couple minutes too long than too short.

2. Let them steam for 10-15 minutes. Release as much water as possible. This includes crushing the chunks with the masher, before adding…

3. Lots of butter. More than you think is sane. And make it European-style.

4. You are not stirring the potato, you are mashing it. Hence the name. “Bashing” might be better. If your arms aren’t tired, you haven’t done it nearly enough.

5. It reheats very well. You do not need to add more liquid to loosen it up. Just heat. And more bashing.

So what’ve you got? Brag about something, big yourself up, for once in your life. I’ve typed out the above words despite knowing that a brilliant and world-renowned cookbook writer subscribes to this Substack, and thus may read them (waves nervously).

What are you actually pretty darned good at, in the kitchen or elsewhere? Do not stint on detail. Share the wisdom.

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