My earliest culinary memories are of mashed potatoes, a true comfort food in my childhood years. Served with fried sausages and affectionately known as bangers and mash, I recall heaping the potatoes into the middle of the plate and pushing each sausage into the pile so they stuck out in all directions.

I would then make a hollow in the middle to form a gravy lake. The objective was to eat everything from the outside inwards and see how long you could go before the gravy lake dam walls burst.  English mashed potatoes are firm, fluffy and buttery, made with a splash of milk.

French mashed potatoes are known as Pomme Puree, I was never a big fan of their creamy and very runny consistency. It could be classified as a posh froggy soup.

American mashed potatoes are not as mushy as the French version but still way too creamy and not firm enough for my taste.  

While growing up in England, I never came across the term french fries, we called them chips and the best ones came from our local fish and chip shop or “chippy”. For just a few pennies you could buy a portion of chips wrapped in newspaper, it was the staple diet in every working class region and the thick cut chips were served with salt and vinegar. When taken home, I would butter white bread and make a chip sandwich, the famous “chip butty”. The heat from the chips would melt the butter and today I still yearn for that buttery/bread/potato combination taste. 

Moule frites is a popular French meal,  although its more of a Belgian dish. It consists of steamed mussels served with very thinly cut french fries with mayonnaise on the side. I never really liked those slimmed down fries but it was fun to wash them down with a strong Belgian beer or two. 

I first tasted American fries at a Disneyland McDonalds and for me they were way to skinny, almost like matchsticks.  I remember asking for vinegar and being totally gobsmacked to discover they don’t offer it with their fries which often come over salted.  No self respecting English chippy would dare cut their chips that thin or have the audacity to deny customers the pleasure of having them soaked in vinegar. 

The king of all potato dishes for me is the mighty roast potato or “roastie” which we would have with our family meal on a Sunday accompanied by roast beef, lamb or chicken. As a child I remember seeing the beef dripping being melted in preparation for the roasties. I love the crispy outside and soft steamy interior of an English roastie, they taste sublime when dipped in gravy.

I always save one roastie to be consumed as the last bite of my home cooked roast dinner.  Sadly I have never tasted a perfect roastie outside of England and it’s the first thing I request when going back there to visit my sister Kath.  She makes them just like my mother used to, I have never quite managed to replicate that taste. I suspect the recipe is a closely guarded family secret that is only passed down to daughters.  My tombstone will read “He travelled the world eating potatoes but always went back to England for his roasties”.