Nothin' says lovin'

I looked in the fridge, and "A Fine Romance" started playing. Not exactly yesterday's mashed potatoes, but mashed potatoes of some vintage nonetheless.

The cold had leached off a little water into the bowl. Actually, a good thing: firmer texture.

So, into the bowl, whisk in a cup or so of grated asiago, lots of cracked pepper and about a quarter-cup of mashed garlic cloves that had been roasted golden in olive oil a week ago.

Sprinkle with extra cheese in a baking dish -- that French porcelain beauty I've had as long as the KitchenAid -- and send it along for the ride next to the baking meat loaf.

And out comes something that looks and tastes as if you'd planned it that way all along.

I mean, Dorothy Fields was a great lyricist, but she'd never have dissed those spuds if I'd fed her.