After his first marriage ended, the chef Nick Anderer vowed to himself that he would never marry again. But “I’m a hopeless romantic,” he said one Thursday morning at his West Village restaurant, Anton’s, where he showed me how he makes his olive-oil mashed potatoes. Whenever I tell people I like to eat those Anton’s potatoes for dinner with a glass of wine and a good book, I have to repeat myself to emphasize: I like to eat just those potatoes for dinner. They are, truly, the best mashed potatoes I’ve ever had.
Recipe: Olive-Oil Mashed Potatoes With Bay Leaves
Mashed potatoes don’t ever mean to be the star, but like Michelle Williams in any of her character-acting roles, sometimes they’re the supernova. A pristine emulsion of liquid, starch and fat, the mashed potatoes at Anton’s — called “whipped potatoes” to reflect their light, fluffy texture — come in a shallow dish, where they level out like an infinity pool of spud. Bright green extra-virgin olive oil from Castelvetrano, a town in Sicily, thinly outlines the sides of the dish, adding not just richness but peppery intrigue. A single bay leaf sticks out, hinting to its presence. You could eat these potatoes with a spoon, but a fork allows you to linger between bites.
On that cool morning, as Anderer walked me through the recipe in the basement kitchen, where his cooks prepped the day’s service to a soundtrack of Spanish Christian rock music, I learned a few key lessons: First, use Yukon Golds, which are more consistently delicious than some old russets on the shelves. When peeling them, don’t worry about the odd bit of skin; you won’t notice them in the final product, Anderer said, jokingly calling his technique a “rustic peel à la Anton’s.” Second, really take the time to mash, mill or rice the potatoes, cutting in cold butter as you do (it will melt). I find that a fork, with a good measure of diligence, gets you to the finest, most even mash. Once you add the liquid, overmixing can lead to glueyness, so do as Anderer does and gently fold the milk and olive oil into the potatoes as if you’re dressing a salad, until, he said, “every bit of potato is moistened and seasoned.”
You could eat these potatoes with a spoon,
but a fork lets you linger.
A little grated Grana Padano — something sweet and less intrusive than other hard cheeses — atomizes into the spuds, almost drawing out the olive-oil flavor and giving you that little something-something. Want to know what else infuses the mash? The two to three fresh bay leaves, from laurel, that steep with whole milk at the start of this recipe. “I wish I was scientific enough to tell you why,” Anderer said, “but I just know I get better floral extraction from a liquid.” That last secret may be why his gentle potatoes achieve the ideal triumvirate of being milky, peppery and umami-accented.
Natalie Johnson, who founded Anton’s with Anderer and oversees its beverage program, front-of-house service and general operations, says the potatoes provide relief from the rest of the meal — the salty, the sweet, the acidic — and help you keep going in for more, especially around the holidays. “People just go crazy for those potatoes,” she said, especially Anderer, who jokes that he was “half mashed-potato as a kid.”
Anderer and Johnson met while working at Union Square Hospitality Group and got along so well that they opened not just Anton’s (named for Anderer’s great-great-grandfather) but also Leon’s (named after Johnson’s great-grandfather). The union flourished. They moved in together and started their own holiday traditions, like eating sliced pumpernickel with whitefish and lox for breakfast and mashed potatoes for dinner and topping their tree with a golden angel statuette. Four years ago on Christmas morning, when Johnson looked up at the tree, she saw the glint of a diamond ring threaded around the top sprig, underneath the angel’s skirt. She grabbed it, then turned around to find Anderer on one knee. The couple married at Anton’s.
The post Truly, the Best Mashed Potatoes I’ve Ever Had appeared first on New York Times.
