I like making mashed potato volcanoes. I pile up my normal gigantic helping and jam a pat of butter into the top. Then I sculpt it into a quiet unassuming mountain. I arrange the rest of the food on the plate into a quiet village of vegetables and protein. Then, when everyone is asleep for the night a huge chunk of the peak explodes away as the delicious buttery lava oozes out onto the unsuspecting villagers. This is usually the point where I look up and realize all my relatives at the Thanksgiving dinner are looking at me.