My name is Annie, and I am an addict.

I am an addict. I am addicted to the fluffy stuff. For twenty years, twice a week, I have carried huge 10kg bags of potatoes from the supermarket, into the car and then through the house to the kitchen. Then I have spent a good ten minutes every day peeling/scrubbing them, another fifteen minutes standing over them as they boil and another five mashing them. That's a whopping total of 30 minutes four days a week for twenty years devoted to the art of Mashed Potato. I loved it. That was until I did the maths and worked out that when all those minutes are added together, I have spent 86 day and nights of my life, preparing and mashing potato. That's ridiculous.

If I only I had those 86 days back again, goodness knows what I'd do, the possibilities are endless. I might travel across America on a Greyhound bus or get learn how to ride a unicycle and take myself around Europe on it. I might take up synchronised swimming or learn how to speak Japanese. I could walk the entire length and breadth of Iceland or  take up the ancient art of falconry, lace making or clog dancing. Fellow potato lovers around the world will have to agree, this mashing potato madness has to stop.

WARNING!

Before I go on, a word of caution to any purists reading. You may find the following upsetting. You may find yourself feeling light headed, dizzy, angry or nauseous. Don't panic, lie down and put your feet up, your reaction to what you are about to read is perfectly normal.

A chance TV encounter with the legendary Delia Smith changed everything.  When having made a fish pie filling, she reached into the freezer and pulled out a bag of (wait for it.....) FROZEN mashed potato.  She simply snipped open the packet, plonked the entire contents over her fish pie base and saved thirty minutes of labour. She fed it to the TV presenter beside her, "Mmmm"s and "WOW!"s filled the studio. 

Like the invention of the wheel, the lighbulb or the telephone, there are people who will consider frozen mashed potato as the work of the devil. It may even be considered sinful. But I've no time for food snobbery and here's the thing; in the six months that I have been using my Fluffy Frozen Mash, not one person around my table has complained. In fact, just the opposite. They love the lump free, creamy, soothing mash that was not only effortless to prepare (unless you consider opening the freezer door a chore) but tastes as good as home made. Not only that, but my arms and legs are getting a break too as one bag feeds the entire family and is a fraction of he weight of a bag of King Edwards with no waste.

I am addicted. This wonderful stuff has been a lifesaver in the freezer. It goes on everything; Shepherd's Pie, Cottage Pie, as a filler in Pasties, as a thickener in soups and it goes without saying, with sausages and gravy. Frozen mash has one more serious advantage, it is essential in emergency situations. The bag has come out of the freezer many times to relieve the pain of sprained ankles and bruised heads. It is the perfect size. I cannot recall how many hours I have spent with a bag of frozen fluffy mashed potato on my head, in a quiet dimply lit room. There is no better relief for a migraine. Say what you like about the frozen white stuff but you cannot do that with a 10kg bag of Jersey Royals. 

Of course, the issue that many (women in particular), is coping with the guilt. The guilt of knowing that you didn't spend hours carrying, peeling, boiling and mashing the spuds. This is the burden that I carried for the first few months, like lead upon my shoulders. Then, as if by magic, the guilt left. All because I managed to convince a woman in her seventies to try it. This woman, a fellow mash devotee, had spent 50 years mashing potatoes. But a few weeks later, I discovered that she too had come over to the other side, "I wish that I'd discovered it years ago" she said when I bumped into her in the supermarket with five packs in her trolley. She'd cleared the shelf.

And finally, before I go and serve up my stew and mash this evening, the snow over in the UK hasn't excited my 7 year old boy one bit. He has no interest in making snowmen this year. Much better than snow, it turns out that the small frozen mashed potato logs are great for making little igloos for Lego people. 

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