The Queen of entertaining Rosalind rustled up some superb Supper Smash last night. This is convenience food British style to rival the Bisquik. Those of a certain age on these shores will remember the “For Mash, Get Smash” advertising campaign and those a bit younger might even recall “Pot Smash” a short-lived potato version of Pot Noodle that had CROUTONS.
Mm but it was good. Stumbling to R’s place from Bradley’s Spanish Bar where we had been quaffing beer and talking about BOYS for hours, we were absolutely famished. RR put the kettle on and got a foil package out of the cupboard. Perfect consistency mash followed, served in individual bowls with some butter mashed in, a sliver of cheese on the side and (in mine) some of that squeezy mustard.
Current sofabed resident Montgomery refused our offer of Smash. He has a rather refined palate. When I woke him up this morning cussing the plank of wood in the hall upon which I had stubbed my toe he accused me of being “still smashed on Smash”. Yes.
Now I know for a fact that Lady Longhorn has cooked up the chowder so we should expect a post from her soon. I spoke to her via transatlantic telephone call yesterday and sincerely hope there is some kind of American version of Smash available out there in Texas. It is a cure for all traumas, comfort food to rival a bowl of hot creamed rice with a cube of chocolate gently melting in the middle. I only wish I lived closer so that I could rustle up a bowl of Supper Smash for Ms Longhorn right now. For THAT is what friends are for in times of trouble…