Porta's Kitchen
Note to cook: The most important thing is that this dish, which is fit for the gods, should be prepared with feeling… Without feeling it is of no use.

You may now proceed:

Step 1: First you pick out some beautiful potatoes. You might steal them in a field or find them in a cellar. Anyway, when you’ve got them you sit on a good chair. If your backside is sore get a cushion. Then you peel ‘em. The bad parts, if any, are neatly and lovingly cut off.

Step 2: Drop the peeled potatoes in a bucket with lovely cold spring water with a saucy little splash just like a virgin weeing in a stream on a spring evening while the mosquitoes play in the bushes.

Step 3: When all the spuds are peeled, boil ‘em. Then mash them nicely and according to the rules into a porridge.

Step 4: Go into a field or a village where the fragrance tell you there’s cattle. Find a female cow. I take it you know the difference between a he and a she. If not just lift the rudder at the back end, but keep your nose away. You see, the exhaust sits just beneath it.

Step 5: When you’ve found the proper animal, draw off a pint of juice from the milk container. It is an apparatus under the stomach and looks like an electrical fitting. Pour the milk into the mashed potatoes but, for the sake of the holy Elizabeth, be careful you’ve not found a goat or a donkey on the lovely spuds because donkey’s milk is used for bathing in.

Step 6: When the pure cow-milk has been poured on the spuds, stir round elegantly and well. Then take a pinch of salt and gently drop it in the spuds, but for heaven’s sake with feeling and for the sake of Saint Gertrude stir with a wooden spoon all the time. If you haven’t got one, use your bayonet. Remember to wipe off any blood or oil.

Step 7: Then, break ten eggs and in your most charming manner stir them up with sugar. Pinch the sugar from the quartermaster, but for the sake of Holy Moses’ blue eyes, stir slowly, dear friends, slowly!

Step 8: Boil the whole thing on a slow fire. Never use manure for fuel. It stinks!.. The pork is browned over a glowing fire made of birchwood.

Step 9: You cut the pork conscientiously into cubes and let the pieces slide into the mash. It must be done with loving care and feeling. The most important thing is to put one’s whole Catholic soul into the job.

Step 10: While singing a Russian autumn-song, you cut up a few chives and with a winning smile you spread it over the mash. A pinch of paprika is also very good. And not to be despised is a half-full cartridge-case of pepper. But for the sake of the Holy Jordan don’t’ leave it on the fire too long. You see lads, this is called ‘Burning Love’.

Step 11: Before you sit down to eat this manna, rinse your spoon well in boiling water. It would be a truly deadly sin to eat the mash with a dirty spoon.”

Caution: Remember to use the meat of a white pig for the cubes; at a pinch use a black one, but never a red one. That would be blasphemy.