It was one of those evenings when the house just… echoed.
No music, no questions, no forks left in the sink. Mae was out. The wind outside kept brushing past the window like it forgot something.
I wasn’t hungry, exactly. I just wanted to make something warm.
Something soft.
Something that didn’t need applause.
So I boiled potatoes. No plan. No sides. Just Martha’s mashed potatoes, printed on a torn-out magazine page tucked behind the sugar jar.
What the Original Looked Like
Her Highness goes for restraint here. No garlic. No cream cheese. No roasted shallots or crème fraîche or cleverness. Just potatoes, salt, butter, milk. A whisper of nutmeg. That’s it.
You use a ricer—of course you do—and stir with intention. The heatproof bowl rests over simmering water like it’s attending a spa treatment. Everything’s whisked in gently. There’s a stillness to the steps. A grace.
The result? They don’t yell. They don’t dazzle.
They just show up soft, warm, and ready.
What I Did Differently (By Accident or Choice)
I didn’t use a ricer. Mine broke three Thanksgivings ago. I used a masher with a wobbly handle and called it good.
I warmed the milk in the microwave and spilled some on the stove. Didn’t clean it. Kept going.
I added a little more butter than she said. Because no one was watching.
And I skipped the nutmeg at first. Then added it halfway through eating. It changed everything. Like a quiet room with a candle lit.
The Way It Happened in My Kitchen
The potatoes simmered while I leaned against the counter in my oldest sweatshirt, flipping through a grocery receipt that made me feel guilty. They were ready before I was. Peeled soft. Steamed the windows.
I mashed them into the warm bowl, watching the butter disappear like a secret. The milk joined slowly, and for a second, I forgot what time it was.
There was no music playing. Just the sound of the spoon scraping the side of the bowl, and something in me easing up.
I ate them out of the pot. No plate. No company.
Just quiet, and starch, and a moment to stop wanting anything more.
What I Learned (From a Bowl of Potatoes)
Sometimes comfort isn’t clever. It’s not golden or herby or Instagrammable.
Sometimes it’s just warm. And there. And enough.
What Happened After
I left the bowl in the sink. Let the dog lick the spoon.
Mae came home later and asked what smelled like “kindness.”
I said potatoes. She didn’t believe me.
Would I Make Them Again?
Yes. On days that feel too loud—or not loud enough.
That’s What I Remember
Steam on my glasses. Salt on my tongue. No one needing anything from me for five whole bites.
Why I’ll Make Martha’s Mashed Potatoes Every Time I Need Quiet
Why I Skipped the Nutmeg (At First)
Because I didn’t think I needed it. Thought it was just one of Martha’s little flourishes.
But halfway through the bowl, I added a pinch. It rounded everything out. Made it feel… thoughtful. Like someone had planned this softness on purpose.
FAQs
yeah. just keep them warm over low heat or in a double boiler. stir in a little extra milk before serving if they’ve thickened up.
technically, yes. but they soften a bit. freeze flat, reheat gently. they lose a little charm, but not all of it.
nope. if you like a little texture, leave the skins on. especially with Yukon golds—they add this earthy depth that feels like fall.
don’t sweat it. mash by hand. they’ll be lumpier, sure—but sometimes that’s the whole point.
real texture. real life.
it’s subtle. not spicy, just warm. like a nudge, not a shout. try it once—you’ll probably keep it.
Check out More Recipes
- Martha Stewart Banana Bread Loaf
- Martha Stewart Easy Waffle Recipe
- Martha Stewart Deviled Eggs
- Martha Stewart Carrot Cake
Martha Stewart Mashed Potatoes
Description
Soft. Salted. Gentle enough to hold a tired heart.
Ingredients
Instructions
- Boil the Potatoes: Peel and chop the potatoes. Cover with water, add salt, and simmer until fork-soft. You’ll know.
- Mash or Rice Them: If you’ve got a ricer, use it. If not, mash by hand into a heatproof bowl over gently simmering water. Let the warmth hold the bowl like a hug.
- Add the Butter: Whisk it in right away while the potatoes are hot. Watch it vanish. Don’t rush.
- Add the Milk: Warm the milk first. Pour it in slow, whisking as you go until it’s silky and soft. Taste as you stir.
- Season: Salt. Pepper. Then the nutmeg, if you’re feeling brave. It’s a quiet spice, but it shows up.
- Serve: Hot, in a bowl big enough to hold more than just food. With nothing else, or with everything. Either works.