My father grew up in the valley in Los Angeles, the son of two working parents. He did not come into his marriage to my mother with a trove of family recipes, as far as I know. What I remember growing up mostly was his work at the grill, standing outside of our house in Mount Kisco, wavy behind the heat rising from the flames.

 

But he did have one recipe, a very special one he made at Thanksgiving and Christmas: mashed potatoes. I say mashed potatoes but the truth is that they were mostly Parmesan and Pecorino Romano held together with a bit of potato binding. The recipe, my favorite, called for mounds and mounds of cheese. And to make these mounds, my father, sister and I would take turns cranking on a rotary cheese grater. In that way, this relatively unremarkable grater has become a totem of some of my happiest memories.

"This mashed potato recipe, my favorite, called for mounds and mounds of cheese. And to make these mounds, my father, sister and I would take turns cranking on a rotary cheese grater. In that way, this relatively unremarkable grater has become a totem of some of my happiest memories."

That cheese grater stayed in the kitchen of our Mount Kisco home for years though our family shifted around.  My dad, who worked in product development for Mastercard, traveled so often that eventually my mother decided that she, my sister and I would move to Los Angeles, where she had inherited an antiques store called Ottestad’s on Wilshire Boulevard. My dad stayed put in Mount Kisco and we would return for holidays, when the cheese grater would make its biannual appearance. After my mother passed away, when I was 15, and my father, when I was 28, my sister and I decided we’d try to fix up our old house. Neither of us had any experience in renovation nor, really, the funds to do it but we grew up there, it was home and it was important. Partially because it took so long and partially because we wanted to keep the warmth of the house alive, we often invited our friends over for dinner. Out the cheese grater would come, producing its mountains of cheese, and mashed potatoes were served.

"I brought the cheese grater to the home I share in Bed Stuy with my partner, Deirdre, and baby son, Oscar. Every Thanksgiving, we host friends for a massive feast and every Thanksgiving, I bring out the grater, turning the handle round and round, thinking of memories of father and his mashed potatoes."

Eventually that house became the first founding farm of Smallhold. I filled the basement and the backyard with racks of trumpet mushrooms, seeing if this crazy dream I had was viable. And, as it turns out, it was. Eventually we sold the house, so I don’t get back up to Mount Kisco very much so I’ve brought the cheese grater to the home I share in Bed Stuy with my partner, Deirdre, and baby son, Oscar. Every Thanksgiving, we host friends for a massive feast and every Thanksgiving, I bring out the grater, turning the handle round and round, thinking of memories of my father and his mashed potatoes.