But sometimes you can get pretty damned close, which is why when Brooke and Tina requested some sweet potato variant of my previously posted carnival fry, I complied. No, it’s not chili lime, or whatever it was, but it is a bushy tangle of delectability. A culinary Medusa, sexily disheveled on the plate begging you to come use it to your satisfaction, only to go ahead and kill you after sexin’ in the form of turning your arteries to stone.
Ordinarily I feel like the sweet potato is actually very close to the yam in that you consume the sweet potato, and then you yam all over the toilet because it’s repulsive. But lately, I’ve been giving it small shots to win me over. I’ve tried sweet potato chips dusted with brown sugar and found those to be stunning. I ate a sweet potato and brown sugar blob on a burning cinnamon stick at Alinea, and it was spectacular. And I’ve nervously purchased a few, only to watch them menace me from the vegetable bin on my counter until they shrivel. Then I ceremoniously throw them away while feeling guilty about poor children in Africa.
But it’s not like we’re BFF or anything. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to eat the traditional Thanksgiving offering of sweet potatoes from a can, baked with marshmallows. I wouldn’t tolerate that type of shit from a regular potato. Taters don’t come in cans. That’s just science. The only vegetable I eat from a can–on occasion–is corn. And that’s because I’ll eat corn in pretty much any form you serve it. I lurve corn. I don’t lurve yam. I *yuck* yam.
But, as luck would have it, it appears one CAN fry out the evil in a sweet potato. 375 degree oil is the magic touch to make it edible for me. Not even edible, so much, as completely outstanding.
So Chris and I used the apple corer-peeler device to peel off long strands of sweet potato. I had to have his help/supervision on account of my recent brush with exsanguination trying to move the same device a few days ago. The strands got placed in cool water to wait for my attention.
I had made a slaphazard marinade of Captain Morgan, maple syrup, soy sauce, and cayenne pepper, then stuffed 6 boneless, skinless chicken thighs in the brew for several hours. I heated a comal (cast iron plate) in the oven on broil for about 10 minutes, with the oven rack as close to the top of the oven as it would go. The temperature of that comal probably reached 575 degrees. That’s almost as hot as it is outside right now. I slapped the chicken thighs on the smoking comal and let them sizzle away until a crust developed, then flipped them and let them finish cooking until the internal temp reached 155 degrees.
I don’t recommend you do this. The Government says you should get it to 180, at which point I guess the right thing to do is to throw it away because it’ll be rubber. I’ve found 155, then covered in foil for 10 minutes to rest is the way to go for me. I have a superior immune system, like Wolverine. I also can’t get strep throat, allergies or cold sores, and I heal cuts exceptionally fast. It’s a gift. No, I don’t like to call it a superpower, because underneath it all I’m still Kristie from the block, you know? Jiggy.
Anyway, while the chicken were resting, I took the marinade (I know this is also hygenically illegal, but WTF-ever, I run with gangs) and boiled it down by half. I added a bit of ginger and a squeeze of lemon, stirred in some double-Devon butter, and called it a day. I hit that thing with my lil’ silver tasting spoon like 35 times, it was that good. I called Chris into the kitchen away from his computer game, and he didn’t even rush back to it. That’s how good it was. Who knew??
And I steamed some fresh green beans, but nobody cares about that. I just was excited to use my new 12 qt All-Clad steamer. The thing is a BEAST, but so much fun to play with that it comes out even for two servings of green beans.
So onto the plate as follows: pool of splendiferously fucktacular sauce, then bushel of sweet potato fries, then two chicken thighs, then some green beans. In the end, the sweet potato fries in the sweet sauce with the touch of ginger were absolutely perfect. Thank you guys for the suggestion. And the chicken and green beans, well, they provided excellent vehicles for sauce-eating as well.
The only explanation I have for my adoration of this is that I grabbed a special sweet potato. A sweet potato that used to be a regular potato, but had gone over to the dark side, getting all of the talents but resisting any of the evil of a yam.
Have I mentioned I read all of the Twilight books for the first time in the last three days? I’ve had very few doses of reality.