Sweet Potatoes

Standard
Taken by an urge to recreate Thanksgiving, now that it’s safely passed, I made a turkey breast (I whimsically refer to them as bosoms so often that I live in dread of doing so to the butcher. Why is life so difficult?) and my granny’s cornbread dressing and sweet potatoes roasted with onions and thyme for lunch today.
Sweet potatoes are tough-ass tubers and the most effective way to deal with them is to use a kitchen hatchet. Despite being a good cook, there are many things in a kitchen which give me the willeys; food processors are obviously just waiting to chew off my fingers, gas stoves are bombs on the verge of going KABLOOEY at any moment, and hatchets, eeks, hatchets just seem like props left over from some slasher movie.
Nevertheless, me and the hatchet faced off the sweet potato, mano a veggie, and I triumphed. MMMmmmmmmm tasty.
Before:

After:

Also, I don’t know why, but I was just reminded of my college friend Gene who attempted to sell me cocaine once with the stipulation that I then share it with him. I now realize that my explanation to him that that was just not how things worked was my first marketing consultation with an entrepreneur. It just goes to show, but what, I’m not sure.
Random houseboy cause I’m sort of loaded and feel like it:
You’re welcome.

About mrpeenee

A former bon vivant and terror of a number of New Orleans bars in the mad, gay 1980s, I'm now quietly retired and widowed in San Francisco. I have a crooked nose due to an unfortunate Frisbee accident.

8 responses »

  1. I'm with Kevin on the santoku knife. By yourself a nice one – a Wusthoff. You're worth it, and it will last a life time.

    Or you could go with the canned sweet potato. I know its heresay, but not everything in life needs to be a struggle. Just the important stuff.

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  2. circa 1973… at college in LA, a friend & I bought a whole ($) lotta hashish. We decided we would sell it only to people we knew & that would allow us enough to have our cut for free. We stayed up all night, weighing it & wrapping it in perfect little, aluminum foil cubes. We put the cubes in a a big cookie tin, ready to sell… & then we smoked it all & sold nothing. Capitalism in action.

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  3. That fucking knife has the hair standing up on my neck!

    I recall a big bag of weed I bought in 1979; Hawaiian something or other. I had a lot of friends that week. Most crashed at my apartment. It was also the week I wrote bad checks to cover frozen pizzas by the dozen. Le sigh.

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