So, I'm reading Nora Ephron's 1983 novel Heartburn -- I think I'm the last person in America to realize that Ephron was a foodie long before Julie & Julia -- and the book is filled with love and longing and heartbreak and food. Lots of food.

The main character, Rachel, is a cookbook writer who is dealing with the discovery that her husband has been having an affair with a mutual friend. Oh, and Rachel and her husband have a baby together and are expecting another one when the affair comes to light. Oh, and this book is a thinly-veiled portrayal of what happened between Ephron and her ex-husband Carl Bernstein (yes, THAT Bernstein), right down to Ephron being 7 months pregnant when she learned of Bernstein's affair and later going into premature labor.

Anyway, all that horribleness aside, Ephron's funny-sad novel is seeded with a bunch of quick recipes, all of which weave naturally in and out of the plot. Among others, there's Lillian Hellman's pot roast, Rachel's closely guarded vinaigrette recipe, and the Key lime pie Rachel ends up throwing at her husband's cheating face during a dinner party. However, the one I zeroed in on was her mashed potato recipe. It wasn't so much the recipe that resonated with me as it was Ephron's explanation of why mashed potatoes are so necessary to life:

Nothing like mashed potatoes when you're feeling blue. Nothing like getting into bed with a bowl of hot mashed potatoes already loaded with butter, and methodically adding a thin cold slice of butter to every forkful. The problem with mashed potatoes, though, is that they require almost as much hard work as crisp potatoes, and when you're feeling blue the last thing you feel like is hard work. Of course, you can always get someone to make the mashed potatoes for you, but let's face it: the reason you're blue is that there isn't anyone to make them for you. As a result, most people do not have nearly enough mashed potatoes in their lives, and when they do, it's almost always at the wrong time.

That whole bit reminded me of the mashed potato recipe in my Friends cookbook. (Yes, I have the Friends cookbook -- you wanna make something of it?) In that cookbook, the recipe is called "Mashed Potatoes for the Broken Hearted" and carries the note, "These fluffy, smooth potatoes (with plenty of sour cream and butter) have been known to mend even the most fractured heart."

What is it about mashed potatoes and comfort and soothing? Is it that their bland simplicity makes them non-threatening, and therefore calming, to the palate? That they are merely a vehicle for butter, salt, and/or sour cream and we crave fattening foods when at our lowest points? That they remind us of home and childhood when life was easier? I don't think I can answer these questions, but I do know that a big pile of mashed potatoes on my plate never fails to raise my spirits and warm my cockles. And on chilly grey days and dark sharp nights, mashed potatoes are one of those foods that I want to crawl into and pull up around my shoulders.

With mashed potatoes, the prep is so minor and the payoff is so huge that I've never understood why anyone would make mashed potatoes from a box. In fact, since my own mother didn't do that, I never knew they existed until I had them at a friend's house and was totally and horribly scarred by the experience. (That same mother made a kick-ass lemon chicken, so I was able to forgive her. In time.)

My own mashed potatoes are fine. They're basic, easy -- they get the job done. No garlic, no blue cheese, no bacon. I'm perfectly happy with them. However, in my lifetime I've encountered two particular mashed potato presentations so wonderfully rich and heavenly that there are times I consider rethinking my comparatively spartan recipe.

First, there's Fatemeh's "Party Potatoes" that come from her husband's "Irish-ish" grandmother and are known to contain butter, sour cream, AND cream cheese. And then there are the mashed potatoes Kim's husband Keith made for last year's Burns Night. It was my first Burns Night, my first haggis, and my first taste of Keith's potatoes.

Both of those sets of mashed potatoes? Yeah, I've decided that they're God's shaving cream.

After finishing Heartburn well after midnight last night, I went to bed feeling quite melancholy for Rachel. I didn't cheer up until the next morning when I found out that Ephron's been happily married to screenwriter Nick Pileggi for twenty years. I hope he makes her lots of mashed potatoes.

Heartburn Mashed Potatoes

For mashed potatoes: Put 1 large (or 2 small) potatoes in a large pot of salted water and bring to a boil. Lower the heat and simmer for at least 20 minutes, until tender. Drain and place the potatoes back in the pot and shake over low heat to eliminate excess moisture. Peel. Put through a potato ricer and immediately add 1 tablespoon heavy cream and as much melted butter and salt and pepper as you feel like. Eat immediately. Serves one.

As far as I'm concerned, side dishes are what make a Thanksgiving dinner great. Sure, I like turkey, but I truly love stuffing, gravy and mashed potatoes. For me, carbs topped with gravy make this holiday meal delicious. The problem is that most of us don't make these three dishes very often, so preparing them once a year -- for a table full of family and friends no less -- can seem intimidating and make you feel a bit like Dorothy walking into the dark unknown forest with the Tin Man and the Scarecrow. (Some of you may be able to tell that my daughters have just discovered the joys of watching - and rewatching and rewatching and rewatching -- the Wizard of Oz).

I made my first solo Thanksgiving dinner when I was 22 years old. My mom was sick and so I jumped in at the last minute. I had never made a chicken, let alone a turkey, but was excited to help out my mom and cook the meal. I muddled through the day, making boxed stuffing, lumpy mashed potatoes with the skins mixed in, and watery gravy. It was the worst Thanksgiving meal my family had ever eaten, but nobody seemed to care. Everyone just seemed thankful that they didn’t have to cook all day, and, of course, we were together.

Since then, I have cooked numerous Thanksgiving meals, some with help and some by myself. Each year I learn something new, try something different, and gain a little more confidence. My stuffing is now always made from Ciabatta and oven-roasted chestnuts, my mashed potatoes are creamy, and my gravy is (thankfully) thick. So, if you’re in need of a little Thanksgiving advice, here are a few things I’ve learned throughout the years about my three favorite parts of the Thanksgiving meal.

Moist Flavorful Stuffing
To stuff or not to stuff, that is the question. Although many recipes call for placing the stuffing in a baking dish and cooking it separately from the turkey to avoid bacterial contamination, I think this makes it dry. I therefore bake my stuffing in the turkey so all the lovely juices drip into the dressing, making it moist and flavorful. Without those, the stuffing is really just a mix of bread and other stuff. I then scoop it out when I take my turkey out of the oven, place it in a dish, and stick that back in the oven so it can heat up to the proper temperature while the meat rests. This allows you to get all the flavor of a stuffed dressing, while making sure it won't kill anyone.

Note: I won't recommend a specific stuffing recipe as there are tons of recipes out there.

Here's what I do:
1. Make your favorite type of stuffing, place it inside the turkey, and bake according to your turkey baking instructions.
2. When your turkey is resting, take the stuffing out of the turkey and scoop it into a buttered baking dish.
3. Drizzle about 1/4 cup of turkey broth on top.
4. Cover your dish and set it in the already heated oven for about 15 or 20 minutes while you make your gravy. The cover on the dish helps keep the moisture in, but baking it longer gets it up to the right temperature to be safe.
5. Bake until the stuffing is 170 degrees.
6. If you want a crisp topping, take the cover off for the last five minutes.

Basic Gravy
There are so many gravy recipes out there, but as far as I'm concerned, there's only one proper way to make it. Yes, I'm sure many of the results from those recipes are delicious, but the simple fact that gravy has to be made at the very end of the cooking process means it should be quick and easy. I don’t have time to chop up giblets or add special ingredients.

Here's my basic recipe:
1. Make a stock out of the turkey neck, giblets, onions, celery, carrots and whatever herbs you’re using for your turkey earlier in the day.
2. Warm the stock right before you take the turkey out of the oven.
3. When the bird comes out, set it on a serving dish to rest and then drain all the juices from the pan into a fat separator.
4. While the fat separates from the juices, put your turkey baking dish on the stove, mix in 2-3 tablespoons of flour. If you don’t have much fat in the pan, add in a couple of tablespoons of butter and create a roux.
5. Slowly start to deglaze the pan with the turkey stock. Don’t add any black crispy burnt pieces, however, as they’ll taste bitter.
6. Pour the deglazed juices into a pot, add the defatted juices, and then add more turkey stock until you have a smooth and rich gravy. If you have lumps, just whisk it or put a blending stick in and pulse until the lumps are gone.
7. Add in any chopped herbs you would like to accent the gravy. I like to use about a teaspoon of fresh thyme.
8. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Velvety Mashed Potatoes
I like my mashed potatoes creamy and so put them through a ricer to get a smooth consistency. If you don't have one, you can also mash the potatoes with a fork to get the same fine texture. It just takes a little longer.

Here are some tips to making velvety potatoes:
1. Use Yukon Gold potatoes as they have an innate creamy texture. I usually use about 2 - 2 1/2 pounds.
2. Peel the potatoes before boiling them and cut into 1/2-inch pieces. Make sure the potato pieces are all about the same size so they cook equally.
3. Salt your boiling water to help season your potatoes.
4. When you can easily poke the potatoes with a knife, drain them, and then stick the potatoes back into the now dry pot and heat on medium for about a minute while stirring. This will dry any excess moisture from the boiling process so the potatoes can soak up your milk, butter and cream.
5. Place the potatoes in a ricer and press them into a large bowl.
6. Heat 1/2 cup milk, 1/2 cup cream and 1/4 cup of butter in a pot.
7. Add the heated milk mixture to the potatoes and stir. Stop adding when the potatoes are the consistency you like.
8. Add salt and pepper to taste.
9. Fluff the potatoes a bit with a fork to aerate.
10. Set the potatoes in a buttered casserole dish, top with small cubes of butter, and bake until the top is slightly crispy.
11. Serve.

After our wild night of haggis, neeps, and tatties, we had a least half a stockpot full of my husbands' famous, delicious, light and fluffy mashed potatoes. The only reason they hadn't been demolished during our Burns Night feast is because we stowed them away on top of the fridge and promptly forgot about them in our whisky-induced haze. Fortunately they were discovered before the night was over, and secured for later use.

But what do you do with all those leftover clouds of deliciousness? I have a knack for making way too much food, so this is often a question I ask myself or pose to those around me. Mostly my husband. Who agrees wholeheartedly that I like to cook for an army. Or at least a family of 10.

Anyway, faced with a giant pot of mash, I starting flipping through cookbooks and searching online, trying to think about what I could make. I mean, who isn't often left with extra mashed potatoes?

Ok, so here are some ideas I came up with:
• tattie scones (which I made from my Scots Cooking Cookbook, and were delicious)
• potato-leek soup (just add chicken broth and sauteed leeks to the mash, and warm through)
• any kind of pie with mashed potato topping: shepherd's or cottage pie, chicken pot pie, roasted root vegetable pie
• potato bread

I adapted this recipe from an old one I found by Mary Sue Milliken and Susan Feniger. It turned out delicious. And it filled our house with that amazing home-baked smell of fresh bread.

Potato Bread

Ingredients
1 1/4 cup whole milk
3 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 teaspoons kosher salt
2 teaspoons sugar
1 cup mashed potatoes, warmed
2 packages active dry yeast
5 cups bread flour

Preparation
1. In a saucepan, combine the milk, butter, salt and sugar. Warm over medium heat just until steaming. Stir in the mashed potatoes, then set aside to cool to room temperature.

2. In a mixing bowl, combine the yeast with 1/3 cup warm water (about 105°F), stir, and set aside until foamy, about 5 minutes. When the potato mixture has cooled, add it to the yeast mixture.

3. Add 4 cups of the bread flour. Using an electric mixer fitted with a dough hook, mix until the dough starts to come together (you can also use a wooden spoon and elbow grease!). Add up to 1 cup more flour, kneading with the dough hook (or your hands), until the dough is smooth, about 5 minutes.

4. Dump the dough onto a lightly floured work surface and knead for a minute or two with your hands. Get your hands in that dough! Form the dough into a ball. Grease up the mixing bowl with butter. Place the dough into the buttered bowl, cover with plastic wrap, and set aside in warm place (like inside your oven, but don't turn it on!) to rise about 1 to 1 1/2 hours.

5. Butter two standard loaf pans. Dump the dough out of the bowl onto a lightly floured work surface. Divide it into two equal pieces. Flatten one piece into a thick even square that is as wide as your loaf pan is long. Starting at one end, tightly roll the piece of dough into a tube. Pinch the seam together and place the dough, seam side down, into the loaf pan. Repeat with the other piece of dough. Cover each loaf with plastic wrap, and let them proof (rise) until doubled, about 45 minutes to 1 hour. Don't let them over-proof though, or they will collapse in the oven.

6. When the loaves are about 1/2 hour from proofing, preheat oven to 375°F. Bake the loaves for about 25 minutes, or until the bread is golden brown, and sounds hollow when you tap the top of the loaf.

This bread is the ultimate versatile white bread. Great for toast and sandwiches, and it even makes mean French toast. Oh and for those of you trying to figure out what to do with all that leftover haggis (we had not a whisper left), here are some ideas.