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.
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: