It’s late February, so visions of turkey, cranberries, and pumpkin pie have stopped dancing in my head. But I still keep thinking about mashed potatoes, past and present.

The only time I remember seeing my mother make mashed potatoes was the time she showed me how to make them. From the age I could see above the kitchen counter, it was then my job to make them for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners. It was a ritual I relished, and still do.

After washing the potatoes, I peeled them, enjoying the satisfying clink the peeler made as each strip of potato skin somersaulted into the sink. I still have such a peeler.

A pot filled with salted water stood nearby on the stove, ready to keep the skinless potatoes from turning brown. It’s a three-quart Revere Ware pot – stainless steel with a copper bottom, black handle and matching black knob on the lid. I still have such a pot.

After the potatoes gently simmered just long enough, I poured off some of the water, and took to them with a stainless steel Flint potato masher. The masher’s waffle pattern created sturdy square towers of potato, but eventually those skyscraper cities gave way to silky fluffiness as I kept mashing and adding just the right amount of butter and milk. And yes, I still have such a masher.

Those holidays were the only times my family ate from-scratch mashed potatoes — when I made them. During the rest of the year, our taters were whole baked potatoes, Stouffers’ scalloped potatoes, McDonald’s French fries (rarely, mainly on road trips), and whatever potatoes were in the Swanson TV dinners we had on special Fridays in the den on folding TV tray tables. If we had “mashed potatoes,” they were made from a box of Betty Crocker Potato Buds.

Here’s the kicker – my parents were born and raised in Idaho. Yes, Idaho – the state synonymous with potatoes! The state with “Famous Potatoes” emblazoned on its vehicle license plates. One of three states with its own Potato Commission (along with Oregon and Washington). The state that grows more potatoes than any other in the nation (13 billion pounds in 2016, followed by Washington with 10 billion, and the next state at a paltry 2.8).

Both my parents lived through the Great Depression, so I imagine they had a bit of a love/hate relationship with potatoes. On the one hand, they were fiercely proud of Idaho potatoes. They gave hefty gift boxes of them to friends and family, and all the bakers we ate during the year had to be Idahos.

On the other hand, my parents knew potatoes as an indispensable, fairly cheap source of food during the Depression. As such, potatoes were a reminder of that hardship — especially for my mother, the oldest of four children. I can’t even begin to imagine how many potatoes she had to peel and prepare over the years.

No wonder, then, that she wanted no more of that chore later in life. Part of being able to remove that task from her life was passing it along to me. Part of it was a tectonic shift in the food industry, and in society itself.

The 1950s and 60s heralded a new age in America. There were no economic crises, no wartime shortages, and seemingly no reason why everyone couldn’t have meat and potatoes on every plate at every meal. The population started to become more urban than rural, more consumers than producers. The country was the world’s emergent super power.

It was also a new age in feeding America. It was the beginning of processed food. The advent of better living through science.

It was a period ripe for instant potatoes. Though they were less nutritious (far less fiber and far more sodium), they were far easier to make. No peeling, no mashing, no time at all. However, because of the processing to make them easier prepare at home, instant potatoes were more expensive than plain ol’ taters.

I don’t know if my parents ever especially relished the taste and texture of instant potatoes. Their Idaho roots always ran pretty deep. I think they just admired the concept, the modernity, the symbolism of being free from “regular” potatoes. It was the dawning of a new day, the beginning of sweeping changes in our food system.

That bell can’t be unrung, but these days, the trend is to celebrate a different set of values when it comes to food. We’re praising traditional over new-fangled, from-scratch rather than instant, farm-fresh versus processed. The pendulum is swinging back. Back to using a potato peeler, a masher, and a pot to make mashed potatoes. Back to spending the time to cook.

— Text/photos by Katy Budge