Sorry Betty Crocker…

A few weeks back I discovered I had a package of Betty Crocker mashed potatoes (garlic butter and herb to be exact) but no box. Anyone who is familiar knows that the box gives the cooking instructions and normally I can’t wing it. However, figuring I could make them anyways, since I’ve eaten them at least once a week since the age of 4, I attempted to eyeball the ingredients so that I could have them with my steak. Once again, the domestic goddess within shined through and I wound up with mashed potato soup.

Disgusted by my own ineptitude, I walked to the store to buy more (because I simply can’t eat steak without potatoes) and to my dismay, found they only had Idaho Spuds. Saying a silent sorry to Betty C., I purchased the Spuds.

That was like three weeks ago and three boxes of Idaho Spuds later, we are officially best friends. I don’t know what kind of magic potatoes they use, but boy are these guys amazing. And they are filling even when I don’t have the energy to cook something else to accompany them. With just a little water, milk and butter, Idaho Spuds transfer from mere potato flakes into semi-solid delicousiness. Although Betty C. will always hold a special place in my heart, I’m afraid she just can’t live up to the standards set forth by Idaho. Sorry Betty Crocker.