Oz walks into the kitchen where I'm peeling potatoes: "Can I help?"
I've only got one potato left: "No, I'm almost done."
"Okay." Oz goes to the freezer, gets ice, and pours some liquor over the ice.
"So feel free to booze it up over there." Bits of potato skin fly around and stick on my shirt.
"Okay."
I finish peeling the potatoes, cut them into chunks and put them in a pot. "When these are done, I shall mash them and then you can stir."
"But I like to mash."
"The mashing is the reward for the peeling. I was the peeler, therefore I shall be the masher. You will be the stirrer."
"You stole all the peeling!"
"You were asleep! You snooze, you lose. You can stir. You like to stir!"
"It's not the same."
The potatoes are done. I drain them, mash them up with butter, a generous six tablespoons. I never liked mashed potatoes when I was a kid. Turns out, it was the warm milk taste that disagreed with me (my mom always added milk). As a grownup, I make mashed potatoes with butter alone. When the potatoes are pretty much mashed, I hand the pot to Oz, who's left his drink and come over to watch enviously. "Here, you can finish up the mashing and make sure the butter is evenly mixed in."
Thus assuaged, Oz mashes around with the potatoes. I get the sauté vegetables from the fridge for him to stir in. I don't make this casserole all at once. I do the vegetables on one day, the potatoes and assembly on another day, and the baking on the day it is eaten.
While he is stirring, I spritz olive oil in a baking dish. "When it's all mixed up, put it in here."
"Dump or spoon?"
"Whichever you can do more neatly."
He spoons the mixture into the dish in big starchy glops, each delivered with a satisfying splat.
"Are you living out your childhood dream of being a cafeteria lady?"
Okay, so that doesn't get much of a response. He spreads the potatoes and vegetables evenly into the dish, then builds a fort with them. We have a discussion about the fort.
Me: "No."
Oz: "Look, it's got a moat!"
Me: "That will just provide a place for the cheese to pool in and get all greasy and burned."
Oz: "Yeah!"
Eventually I prevail and we have a moat-free casserole.
410 words | April 7, 2006 07:08 PM | Kitchen