Mashed Potato Pancakes

Friday. Seven AM. Babcia Rose's kitchen, which is the size of a generous closet and contains more cooking equipment than some restaurants. She was already rolling dough when I walked in. Eighty-six years old, four foot eleven, hands like leather, and she looked at me and said, "You're late." I was two minutes early. This is how Babcia Rose says good morning.

We made pierogi for nine hours. Potato and cheese. Sauerkraut and mushroom. The dough is flour, egg, sour cream, a pinch of salt — simple ingredients that become something sacred if your hands know what they're doing. My hands don't, not yet. Babcia Rose watched me roll and said, "Thinner," and watched me fill and said, "Less," and watched me seal and said, "Tighter," and I thought: this is how she teaches. Not with praise. With correction. Every "thinner" and "less" and "tighter" is her way of saying you're worth the effort of getting it right. I wrote measurements in the margins of her spiral notebook when she wasn't looking. She measures nothing. She feels the dough. She knows by touch. I need numbers. I'm not Babcia Rose. I'm just trying to carry what she's handing me.

Christmas Eve. The house on Ridgeland Avenue. Everyone came. Dad said grace — his twice-a-year mumble. Matt and Danielle and the kids. Wally in his chair, quieter than last year. Babcia Rose presiding over the pierogi like a general surveying her troops. Mom's ham. My mushroom soup, which Wally tasted and said, "Not bad, Myszka," and coming from Wally that's a standing ovation. The table was full. Every seat taken. But I could see the Papalardo house from the kitchen window while I washed dishes. The lights were off. Indiana. I stood at the sink and thought about Jess and thought about Mrs. Papalardo alone in her sister's guest room and pressed my hands into the warm dishwater and breathed.

Christmas Day. Presents. Jake tore through wrapping paper like a demolition crew. Lily wore her new princess dress for the rest of the day. Dad loved the tape measure. Mom lit the candle. Babcia Rose said the Cubs shirt for Matt was "frivolous," which means she approved. I sat on the couch holding Lily in my lap and watched my family be alive in a warm house and felt grateful and broken at the same time, which is apparently something you can feel. I know because I'm feeling it right now, at the kitchen table, writing this, eating leftover pierogi cold from the fridge at eleven PM on Christmas night. Jess would have eaten them cold too. She would have eaten six.

Pierogi at eleven PM, cold, standing over the sink—that’s the kind of meal that asks nothing of you, and that night I needed something that asked nothing. The mashed potato pancakes I’d made two days earlier were the same way: simple, forgiving, the kind of food that feels like it already knows you’re tired. I made them because I had leftover mashed potatoes and because Babcia Rose would have approved, and because some weeks the best thing you can do is fry something in a pan and eat it warm while your family is still in the next room. Here’s how I made them.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 4 (about 12 pancakes)

Ingredients

2 cups cold mashed potatoes (leftover, or freshly made and cooled)
1/2 cup farmer’s cheese or dry-curd cottage cheese, crumbled
1 large egg, beaten
1/4 cup all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting your hands
2 tablespoons finely minced yellow onion
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/2 teaspoon salt, or to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
2–3 tablespoons unsalted butter, for frying
Sour cream and fresh chives, for serving

Instructions

Mix the batter. In a large bowl, combine the cold mashed potatoes, crumbled cheese, beaten egg, flour, onion, garlic powder, salt, and pepper. Stir until fully combined. The mixture should be thick enough to hold a rough patty shape — if it feels too sticky, add flour one tablespoon at a time.
Shape the pancakes. Dust your hands lightly with flour. Scoop about 3 tablespoons of mixture and press into a round patty roughly 1/2-inch thick. Repeat with remaining mixture. You should get about 12 pancakes.
Heat the pan. Melt 1 tablespoon of butter in a large skillet over medium heat. When it begins to foam and settle, the pan is ready.
Fry in batches. Add 4–5 pancakes to the pan without crowding. Cook undisturbed for 3–4 minutes until the bottoms are deep golden brown. Flip carefully and cook another 3 minutes on the second side. Transfer to a plate. Add more butter between batches as needed.
Serve. Plate warm with a spoonful of sour cream and a scatter of fresh chives. They are also, for the record, acceptable cold from the fridge at eleven PM.

Nutrition (per serving)

Mashed Potato Pancakes — What Babcia Rose Does With What’s Left