O.k., so, last night Becky's brother (well, step-brother, anyway) Brad and
his wife Karen and their two boys Reese and Mason came over for our monthly
"let's get stupid in the kitchen!" night. This was a bit of a milestone;
it's been exactly (more or less) a year since we began what would become a
tradition when Brad came over on Superbowl Sunday to learn from your humble
narrator how to make pizzas.

See, Brad has acquired a love of cooking and, upon hearing that I had
unlocked most of the secrets of this arcane art some time ago, decided that
a lifetime of indentured servitude to the master was by no means too high a
price to pay in the expectation of someday achieving godhood. "What the
hell," sez I, "no skin off my ass."

Each month we decide on a theme for the next gathering. Becky and Karen
offer opinions but Reese and Mason don't get a vote......nothing wrong with
microwave mac and cheese, but an unvaried diet thereof is hard to reconcile
with the paramount notion of experimentation. Sometimes a decision is made
on the spot. Typically, the process involves a couple of phone calls spaced
over two or three weeks.

Thus far, we've done Mexican, Pasta, Grillfest, the aforementioned Pizza,
Indian, Soup, and a couple of other things I disremember at the moment.
Last night was......wait for it.......POTATOES! Yep, the lowly spud, that
magnificent tuber whose sudden absence on an island somewhere in the eastern
Atlantic some decades back ultimately resulted in the excruciatingly
repulsive tradition whereby millions of Americans subject themselves to the
ingestion of a green-dyed miserable excuse for beer each year at
approximately what is putatively (if also more than a bit ironically......at
least in some parts of the country) the official end of winter.

Brad (the timid neophyte) always has a recipe or two in mind before arrival,
and usually has a dish or two prepped in advance as well. This time (he's
growing!) he came sans prep......mise en garde ala carte, as it were.
Um......well, he DID bring a couple of Cornish game hens (so-called) and a
bottle of dark soy with which to bathe them......"just to get us over the
rough spots between courses". Not a bad idea.....they were awfully good
baked at 350 for an hour with frequent basting using the soy and some other
stuff that I was too busy to take note of. YT prefers to wing
it.......stocking up on likely ingredients and waiting for the muse to
strike.......as she did......with a vengeance.....more on this later.

O.k., anyway, while awaiting the arrival of the sous chef, the chef du hote
is struck by a bolt of inspiration even before the muse puts in an
appearance. "Why not," thinks I, "trot out the trusty mandolin (for which
some credulous fool paid upwards of $175 U.S. more than a year ago and for
which he had not yet discovered any legitimate use {but, hey, it's a
Bron.....genyuwhine FRENCH!.....how's THAT for 38 star cachet, huh,
Kennie?! }) and cut a couple o' them spuds real thin like and make
some tater chips (which he personally doesn't care for all that much anyway,
but what the hell.)?!" Any spud will do. Personally, I like small waxy
ones.......Yukon golds, yer basic reds, etc. Cut the potatoes very
thin.....about 1mm is perfect for a standard chip......thicker makes them a
bit crunchier. Consistency in the finished product is closely linked to
consistency in time, oil temperature, and thickness.....this is where the
mandolin comes in handy. Place the raw slices immediately into a bowl of
cold water and rinse thoroughly. Several changes of water are needed. Keep
replacing the water until no sign of cloudiness (suspended starch) remains.
Heat as much oil (I use the cheap store brand "vegetable" oil) as you can
afford and as will safely fit in a large heavy fryer (a cast iron Dutch oven
is ideal) until just about ready to smoke. While the oil is heating, blot
the potato slices thoroughly between a couple of towels. When the oil is
hot, start putting the potatoes in, spacing them about 15-20 seconds
apart......this allows you to take the first ones out when finished and
continually add fresh ones rather than trying to do them in batches which is
more difficult to coordinate and causes the oil temperature to fluctuate
wildly. As the chips come out of the fryer, place them on a wire rack and
immediately add salt, McCormick's Creole seasoning blend, hot sauce, or
other dressing of choice. I did this while Brad was getting the birds in
the oven. Everyone else claimed (presumably in deference to my easily
bruised feelings) that they were fabulous. I thought they tasted pretty
much like potato chips.

Brad, having gotten the hens safely into the oven and slathered with their
first coat of soy-whatever mix, proceeds to cut 1/8 inch slices of Yukon
golds on the mandolin (did I mention it's FRENCH, Kennie?) and places them
in a ten inch cast iron skillet with.....a touch of sea salt, freshly
cracked black pepper, and a couple tablespoons of ghee.....that's
it....that's all.....throws a lid on the pan and into the oven for 45
minutes.

The muse shows up. Well, actually, she'd whispered in my ear the day
before, but it was time to put her advice into action. "Why not," she had
said, "try some deep-fried mashed potatoes?" "Say wha'?" quoth I.

Hm......think about it..Scotch eggs. Hard boil an egg....wrap it in some
doughy, bready kinda stuff and deep fry. Sounds stupid, but it works. Why
not spuds? Hm......

So, I broach (which is not at all the same thing as broasting or poaching)
the idea to Brad. "Hm....." sez he.

Earlier in the day, at an Italian market not so very far from home, I'd
bought some hard salami, feta, scallions, and what they call "sweet-piquant"
peppers......red cherry peppers.....with a little bit of heat.....a bit
smaller than golf balls and pickled in sugar and vinegar. I coarsely
chopped about equal quantities of each. I then boiled a mix of several
varieties of potatoes (about one and a half pounds) cut into chunks.....with
the skins left on.....until fork tender. Drained the spuds and returned to
the pot with two thirds of a stick of butter, about a cup of sour cream and
eight or ten garlic toes cut into large chunks. Mashed them coarsely
(mashed potatoes without lumps are an abomination under any circumstances)
and set aside to cool while we drank wine, talked stupid and munched on all
the other stuff.

When the mashers had cooled sufficiently to handle, we flattened out a
portion in the palm of one hand, added a couple teaspoons of the stuffing
mixture, put some more spuds on top, and rolled them into balls about the
size of a medium lemon. As a test, we made a small (one inch or so) ball of
leftover spuds and dropped it into the hot oil. O.k. for the first thirty
second.....and then it started to come unglued......little bits of potato
sludge swirling around in hot oil. Hm......

"Egg wash!", chants the sous chef. "And cornmeal!" responds the chef du
hote. Quickly......no time to waste......we beats a couple of eggs in a
bowl and fill another with corn meal. Potato balls are rolled first in the
egg and then in the meal, and plop! into the oil. Four minutes later, out
comes a golden brown orb of stunning visual appeal and, as it turns out less
than a minute later, extraordinary flavor. The cornmeal coating has turned
crisp, the egg wash has prevented any oil from penetrating the surface and
held the whole thing together. We got us a serious winner!

WHEW! What an adventure!

There was more, but I gotta go cool off.

Wolfgang
oh, and brad's baked sliced spuds were awesome too.
obroff......you could put fish in the mashed potato balls.