I've never trusted turnips. They always had a sneaky way of ending up in my mashed potatoes when I was a kid. Obviously, they didn't get there by themselves...Mom did it. She likes turnips. Who else but a turnip-lover would dare mess with a perfect portion of mashed potatoes?
I watched carefully as my sister made the mashed potatoes last night. She added butter, milk and sour cream. There wasn't a turnip in sight.
My mother made turnips this afternoon-- she knew better than to mess with the already-perfect mashed spuds. The turnips sat in their own little bowl at the end of the buffet table. A few people ate them and enjoyed them. I stayed way, far away.
My brother-in-law's brother stopped by as we finished up our dinner and was offered a turnip. (By my mother, of course.)
"I don't like 'em." he said. "I never liked it when they ended up in the mashed potatoes."
A Reflection on Eight Years of Slicing, Briefly - This was my eighth year slicing - and in reflection, it hasn't gotten any easier. But, it's not gotten harder, either. Just like our students, selecting ...
3 months ago