Yesterday was Thanksgiving in Canada. We had roast potatoes. Most people had mashed potatoes.
Why did we have roast potatoes? Because that's what I serve with roast meat. I have nothing against mashed potatoes, in fact I love them. But to me they don't go with roast meat. To me they are a pedestrian, weeknight, common or garden dish that goes with cheaper, more ordinary foods.
To me, a roast dinner is a special thing, be it an "occasion" or not, so I serve a posher potato. I have no problem with you having mashed potatoes, so long as you have no problem with me having roast potatoes. It's all potatoes. If I come to your house, I'll eat mashed potatoes with a good grace.
And I voiced this, foolishly, outside my comfort zone of MY blog, MY Facebook page, the groups I belong to and so on. I voiced this as an analogy to women's clothing choices, and even more so the concept of choice in general. I thought it was a really good analogy, nothing anyone could get offended about.
You won't believe this. Ready?
I was told that it was "roasted" potatoes, not roast.
I was told that roast potatoes were easier and cheaper than mashed.
I was told that I was a snob because I said that roast potatoes were posher.
I wasn't even talking about potatoes.
I said, right at the start, that it was an analogy. I got into a more convoluted and NASTY argument than any I'd ever had while not using an analogy. In future I will avoid such analogies, because it's way too much of a hot potato.