All right, all of my sons love it. I mean, I’m not sure you can BE a Rhoads and not love mashed potato pie. Seriously. Make a half sheet pan or just forget about it. When it comes to mashed potato pie, all calorie counting and pretenses of moderation are flung aside.
Now I know some of you like Shepherd’s Pie, but stay with me here. My sons don’t want no stinkin’ vegetables in their favorite meal. Think of the time it takes to fish them out. Think of the taint of green or orange or yellow flavors. Ewww!
Yup. Ten pounds of mashed potatoes. Five pounds of juicy hamburger gravy. Slap it together and bake at 350 for a bubbly ambrosia with crusty edges, and you have unleashed greed, gluttony and delight. Unless you have eaten with us, no mocking. It’s just a fact.
Katelyn refuses to refer to her daddy as having died. She always talks about her “risen” daddy, and I’m good with that. And it’s no secret this was Alma’s favorite meal, bar none. I fix each one’s favorite meal for their birthday dinner, and Alma was notorious for coaxing his children into requesting mashed potato pie. We will always miss him, and I may always cry when I make this dish, but I will always smile when I picture him relishing every bite. I hope it remains a Rhoads family staple.
My grandmother made this dish. My mother taught me. I must pass this legacy on. It’s magical, and perhaps my one claim to fame, lol.