And you don’t even need to have a masher. It helps, but a sturdy fork does just well, too. I mash my potatoes with a fork (or sometimes I do a ricer). I don’t even know what the hell this mixer stuff is, as I’ve never witnessed it being done that way (although I’m sure somewhere I must have been served mashed potatoes done that way.) My preference, though, is not for the ultra-creamy mashed potatoes, but rather a starchy, slightly lumpy mash. I grew up with mashed potatoes not having any cream or garlic or any of that crap in it. Just potatoes, salt, pepper, butter. Just pure potato goodness when you eat them.
You would not believe the effort I put into Thanksgiving dinner. Let’s start with this, I raise my own heritage-breed turkeys just for that day. 
So making cream of mushroom soup seemed reasonable. I do agree that using it in g.b.c. was a waste but I had to try! The leftover soup was outstanding. Like pulykamell, I used dried porcinis and wouldn’t hesitate to make it again as a soup.
This has to be presented for completeness’ sake (apologies in advance):
Must be bad luck. I don’t have that problem. FWIW, I use a pizza pan (no way in Hell Mrs. L.A. paid that much for it) or a cast-iron skillet.
Maybe the third time’ll be a charm. I tried twice and gave up. Other doughs just don’t give me this problem.
I don’t see railing - but that may be a matter of perspective.
One thing I do find worth the effort is biscuits. I’ve never had a frozen/refrigerated/etc biscuit that I liked - so, when I want biscuits, I don’t really want “biscuits,” I want “biscuit with a specific flavor and texture.” And so yes, it is worth it to me to make them and if I don’t have time to make it, then I don’t really want them.
For other things, the taste of the store version is close enough to (or in fact better) than what I can make on my own, the cost difference is negligible, and it takes a lot of time. So I may as well just buy it.
Yeah it sucks for Chicago tavern style, like you said, it always pulls back.
It is, however, great for pan style. Presses perfectly into a 10.5" frying pan.
I pour about 1/2 cup olive oil (seems like a lot, I know) into a 10" nonstick pan with a meatal handle, press the dough in (let it rise out of the fridge at least 2 hours till it’s about to burst the bag) put in in a 350 oven for 5-7 min to par bake, top with sauce, cheese and whatever you want, and back in the oven for another 5-7 min to finish. When you pull it out you can check the bottom and put the pan on the stove if you want it more brown. Pretty much foolproof.
I have to say that this gave me pause.
Homemade candy.
We used to make several candies for Christmas. They had a chopped fruit & nut center and required a 2nd person to dip it into chocolate. Then they cooled on wax paper.
It just wasn’t worth the sticky mess that had to be cleaned up later. I’m surprised that we persisted for several years.
That’s how I consume mine, by preference. Although I’ll happily drink it by itself if I don’t have any leftover cornbread.
Don’t use buttermilk for my fried chicken. I just roll the chicken pieces in salted & peppered flour and into the fry oil they go.
Get yourself a can of mango pulpfrom an “ethnic” grocery store. Mix mango pulp half and half with buttermilk and throw in a few ice cubes.
Mango lassi, done in 20 seconds. Tart, creamy, smooth, sweet, cold, perfect.
Do NOT clabber a bunch of sweet milk to make lassi, then go out to your backyard, pick a bunch of mangoes from your mango tree, peel them and pulp them, and mix with the lassi. That’s like, a lot of work.
I am a Southerner, and I can testify that buttermilk, despite my paternal Grandfather drinking it, is a vile, literally rotten, Satanic, nasty beverage.
You can click on “edited by Carnivorousplant” and see the original post. Cool!
But I digress.
My apologies.
I’m betting he’s referring to MMM’s abbreviation of buttermilk as “BM”.
Run that by again?
Maybe it was one of those cell phone posts where they use abbreviations.
BM = bowel movement
Mother used that. I haven’t heard it since I was five or six.
The only time I drank buttermilk was when I was a kid. We were eating with the family we were visiting and I sat at the wrong place at the table. I went through about half the meal, suddenly decided I was thirsty and took a big mouthful of what I thought was sweet milk. The taste was. . . startling. As in, I realized I wasn’t being deliberately poisoned, but just barely kept from spewing it across the table.
I haven’t heard the phrase “sweet milk” used outside the South. Did you ever live there, DesertDog?
Are y’all from around here?
This describes pretty well, my reaction the first time I ordered iced tea in the South. I’d ordered ‘a large iced tea’, and they gave me a large iced tea with sugar! blech If I’d wanted sugar in my tea, I’d have put it in myself.