mash

The mainstay of all trendy menus these days, from Sydney to the Outer Hebrides, would appear to be the mighty mashed spud (or pommes purees in more pretentious eateries). Mashed tatties can be sublime or, as is more often the case, rotten, under-seasoned, over-boiled and yet curiously full of bullet-hard wee lumps, all at the same time. Why this continues to be the case is a mystery. All that is required to make the most luscious mash is a pot, some water, butter, cream, seasoning and a healthy disregard for the continued suppleness of your arteries.

Peeling of the tatties is a purely personal affair. If you like the skin leave it on and be happy with the slightly more Bohemian mash it creates. Cover the tatties with seasoned water, bring to the boil and cook for about 20 minutes or until you can stab easily with a knife, meeting very little resistance. Empty into a colander, allowing all the water to drain away.

Once the tatties are drip-free transfer them back to the still warm cooking pot (saves on the washing up) along with the butter and cream. Taking the pot in one hand and your trusty tattie masher in the other you now have a licence to ''gie it laldy''. This is a procedure that requires only enough finesse to keep most of the mash in the pot.

Once you have achieved the required smoothness, season lavishly and mix thoroughly. Good mash can take an incredible amount of seasoning, so don't be shy! From the first taste, serious mash should have you gagging for more. It should be exquisite enough for you to be still nibbling away at it long after you've finished your meal.

From this basis come 1001 eclectic champit fusion derivatives. Don't be bamboozled. If you wish to substitute olive oil for butter, go ahead: there is no rule that says anchovies and fine sliced pickled onions, garlic, spinach or mustard can't be folded through mash, either.