You can’t always get what you wa-ant

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.

8 thoughts on “You can’t always get what you wa-ant”

  1. Looks deeee-vine.

    Sweet potatoes. Learn to love them. I hate the marshmallow version too. My favorite is to mash 'em up with some butter and fried sage. Mouthgasm. Really good as a side dish for jerk chicken. Trust me.

    I need to hop on the Twilight bandwagon. I have a dangerous tweenie-vampire-drama shortage in my life.

  2. I love a bushy tangle of delectability. Much more than a Brazilian.

    This is exactly why I do not own a deep fryer. I would use it way too much.

    And I make marinade reductions all the damn time. If you boil it, how can it be not OK?

  3. You have been cheating on yo'momma if you ever had canned yams with marshmallow. Never served 'em, not once. Never ate 'em either. But yours look to die for. Your Aunt Tracy serves a nice baked yam with butter, salt, and cinnamon and sugar, and it is both healthy and tasty. Once your taste buds are used to them I bet you will like hers as well. Love you lots. Momma

  4. You should try the creamed corn at Rudy's sometime. I'm sure it's got like a bazillionty calories in it…but it's damn delicious.

    The Twilight books were pretty damn good (good enough for me to read them all over 8 days). Disliked that the sex was all glossed over…though I guess I agree with it–the books are meant for 13-year-old girls, not 27-year-old-married ladies.

  5. Once you're ready to move on from "sweet" sweet potatoes, try this. Bake a sweet potato and top with black beans and a smidgeon of 2% cheddar. Sounds odd, but it's damn tasty. Could eat it for dinner almost every night.

    And my captcha is "beavi." Way too close to beaver to not make me giggle.

  6. Hmmm…sweet potatoes….I just am not with you on this one. Normally, I am right there with you. I detest fish. And anything that even remotely sounds, smells, or looks like foie gras. But, I think you have to stand alone on the sweet potato delectableness.

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