Hi there. If you could make just one wish, what would it be? G’head, take a sec. But, seriously, I don’t have all day. OK, now that you’ve had plenty of time to think about it, you inevitably decided that the one thing you want more than anything else in the world is a book of recipes crafted by Smash Mouth lead singer Steve Harwell.
YOUR WISH IS GRANTED.
What’s a Smash Mouth? Oh, shut up and stop pretending you don’t remember wearing a funky bowling shirt, calf-length jean shorts, and vinyl Converse One Stars whilst mixing a Green Apple Pucker and Ecstasy martini for some lady with breast implants and a cold sore whilst also listening to Smashmouth’s 1997 mega-hit "Walking on the Sun." (I just described in detail what Guy Fieri is doing at precisely this moment.)
Anyway, the impending release of Harwell’s cookbook (for-real cover seen above) was a thing people ended up talking about because Guy Fieri wrote the book’s foreward, and Steve Harwell and Guy Fieri are basically the same person except Harwell walks on the sun and Fieri looks like the sun. Heh. Oh, man. That was a good one.
This collaboration — this meeting of the minds — has been a longtime coming! Back in 2008, Guy force-fed us our first taste of how amazingly bland it can be when ’90s two-hit wonders and their chef-like fans combine as foodstuff when he introduced us to Smash Mouth Reds on his program “Guy’s Big Bite.” The recipe is barely a recipe: Boil red potatoes. Smash with palm of hand. Top with a dollop of creme fraiche, some lime zest, and salt and pepper. AREN’T YOU GLAD I’M TELLING YOU ABOUT THEM?
But, listen. I made it interesting. I made my own creme fraiche. And I smashed them with too much vigor.
These are things for making creme fraiche. These things and 12 spare hours. It seems wrong to mix two dairy products (heavy cream and buttermilk) and then let them sit out at room temp for half a day (or 15 hours in my case, because I forgot).
But, look. Majik.
Then I boiled potatoes for “smashing” with my “bare hands.” So, Guy said if the potatoes were too hot to the touch (which potatoes tend to be when they’ve just emerged from a pot of boiling water) you could use a meat mallet instead, which is what I did. What a comedy of errors. Potato pieces flew hither and thither. I was just like Gallagher, except I don’t despise black people and homosexuals. Our male pattern baldness is the same.
A fat n’ yellow reaped all the benefits.
They really should have been called Presshand Reds, but I guess that would have destroyed the gimmick. And what a good gimmick it is. And such an attractive side dish. That I ate by itself like it was a meal and not just fat and starch. I’m poor.