Guess What You Just Ate

I hear stories from people with partners who are picky eaters and I have to say that I am lucky that Adam is so open about food choices. In fact, he is much braver than I am. My M.O. when approaching new foods is often to get Adam to order it and then I filch bites from his plate. Lame, maybe, but if you want to try lobster do you risk "Market Price" or mooch from someone you know already likes it? (Lobster? Delicious!).

The list of foods Adam dislikes is relatively small. So I try to avoid them when I can. But when he is out of town, I sort of lose it and binge (when I don't succumb to the lure of delivery pizza and convenience food). On previous solo dining occasions I have feasted on fresh pineapple, sausage, various soy based products, and so on. This time it has been sweet potatoes.



I have had sweet potato fries (frozen, from Alexia) for lunch a couple times. I can eat them plain or with ketchup. I guess regular fries are better, but for a quick sweet potato fix, they will do. I generally like sweet potatoes baked with butter and salt. Sometimes I like a bit of cinnamon or brown sugar with it. I am not the biggest fan of the marshmallow topped casserole, mostly because it is often made with canned sweet potatoes. I don't care for canned vegetables much as a rule.

But this time around it has been mashed sweet potatoes that have won me over. Specifically, I messed with a recipe from "Bon Appetit". It was sweet without being cloying and had a nice little kick from the spices. The sweet potato taste wasn't overwhelmed by the other ingredients. All in all, this is one tasty recipe. And it has alcohol in it. That alone gives it a point in its favor (though honestly, there is no boozy flavor, just a nice sweet complexity).

Bourbon Sweet Potato Mash

2 pounds red-skinned sweet potatoes (I believe I used "Jewel")
1/4 cup whipping cream
3 Tablespoons butter
2 Tablespoons pure maple syrup
1 Tablespoon bourbon
3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground allspice
1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg (plus a shake more)

My sweet potatoes were ginormous so I poked them a few times with a fork, put them on a baking sheet, and popped them in a preheated 375˚ oven. Bake for about one hour and fifteen minutes or longer (take them out when you can easily poke a fork or knife into them). Cool slightly and scoop the flesh into a large bowl, leaving skins behind. Mash the hot potatoes. Heat the cream and butter over low heat, stir from time to time. When the butter has melted, gradually stir the mixture into the potatoes. Stir in syrup, bourbon, and the spices. Season with salt and pepper to taste. This makes 4 servings. I halved the original recipe. That I am not sick of them yet may tell you how much I liked them.

I am sure that Adam wouldn't fuss much if I made them for myself, but I don't think he would eat them. It is hard to understand what someone objects to when you like a food so much, but I do respect it. He doesn't make me eat fresh tomatoes. He doesn't laugh much when I meticulously pick them out of my sandwiches and salads. And he doesn't sneak them in my food. I return the favor. He doesn't take too kindly to the "Guess What You Just Ate." I don't blame him.

I am not a big fan of the "Sneaky Chef" and "Deceptively Delicious" style books, but I am not a parent. Then again, I just can't see that squash is so important that I need to sneak it into Mac and cheese. It seems to me that would ruin both the macaroni and cheese AND the squash. I would opt for the straightforward approach and serve the vegetables on their own. I don't think Adam has ever recovered from the Great Spaghetti Squash Incident of his childhood. (It turns out that you can tell it is not pasta even if you put sauce on it).

I think I lucked out. My mom was either really sneaky or didn't play many games. I do remember hearing "Guess What You Just Ate" once, but it was just buffalo substituted for hamburger. That isn't bad.

I know that I was sometimes disappointed because of expectations. I hated it when we had smoked pork chops because I always expected regular pork chops, not something that tasted like ham. Smoked pork chops were also tougher and thinner, not thick and juicy like I was used to. I also hated it when mom made kettle corn. She didn't say it was anything other than what it was and she was certainly allowed her own treats, but my nose and my expectations thought salty goodness, not sugar. But all in all, I was lucky.

Except that Mom hates sweet potatoes too. Dad likes them, but doesn't cook much if the grill isn't involved. So we didn't get them often. When I eat my final helpings of the mash I'll be thinking of him and all the others who are the sweet potato loving minority in the household.

And when I have finished them I will be content. Because Adam will be home again tomorrow. And that is the sweetest thing of all.

“Ask Me About…”

I am lucky enough to have a job that I genuinely enjoy---one that I have worked hard for. I do know that full-time teaching positions in my field are relatively rare. So before my current job I had many moments of doubt about my career prospects. To be honest, what I was shooting for was, bottom-line, a job where I didn't have to wear a nametag. Security, benefits, salary, vacations, and all of that are wonderful but I didn't want to punch a time clock, wear any sort of uniform, or wear the nametag. (Imagine my delight when the administration decided that name badges were a good thing. And guess who doesn't wear hers). Ultimately, it isn't those things that I object to. There are plenty of dignified jobs that require nametags. Really, any job that you invest in can transcend the nametag. I just tend to associate the nametag with a feeling of powerlessness because most of my experience with them was as basically expendable labor.

So why, when I am in what is pretty much a nametag free job, would I feel a bit nostalgic for them?

Tonight's dinner stop at Culver's is where it began. Adam and I were partway into our "this Monday has sucked" fast food suppers when "James C." (or that is what I'll call him) stopped by our table. He started with the usual inquiry about our meals. Then he asked if we wanted the good news or bad news first. The good news? Apparently James just saved a bunch of money by switching to Geico. Hilarious? Not so much. The bad news was doled out slowly. James pulled up a chair and settled in. Adam said he hoped the bad didn't involve a pressing need for a hepatitis shot. (That was a no). It turns out that James wanted to tell us that the bad news is that there is no bad news. He then stood and chatted a bit more. While he was winding down, a coworker walked past and executed a truly masterful "drive by" apron untying. I almost didn't see him do it.

The conversation was sort of a WTF affair. James must have been bored, stoned, full of himself or something. The whole situation made me remember my nametag days. Sure, most of the jobs ultimately sucked, but there were good times to be had. And sometimes a lack of responsibility has its own allure.


I worked for a short time at Toys-R-Us. In those days the cashiers had to wear these obnoxious orange and white striped jackets or an orange vest with Geoffrey on the back. And a nametag. I remember four things about the job.

1. There were a surprising number of people who thought that it was a good idea to ask a sixteen year old cashier at Toys-R-Us what kind of formula they should be feeding to their baby.
2. Some guy wanted to know if it was okay if he committed "hari kari" in the inflatable pool he was purchasing. I told him only if he kept his receipt. That was enough to get him to stop messing with "the help." And for him to give me his business card.
3. Apparently some children are freaked out by long green (or were they black?) fingernails. Wimps.
4. There was a guy who would spend his breaks watching the scene from "The Blues Brothers" where Jake and Elwood drive through the mall (destroying a Toys-R-Us in the process). He would watch it over and over again. Every shift.



I love the movie "Clerks." I am a Kevin Smith fan, for sure, but I also like the film because I have worked at both a gas station convenience store and a video store. And I may have done some of the same things...

There wasn't much to recommend about the Citgo job. I sat there. I mopped. I stocked cigarettes. Made coffee. Had to deal with the old creeps who seemed to *really* enjoy asking for the porn magazines we kept behind the register. Sold lottery tickets. And wore a name tag.

The video store was pretty cool for a nametag job. Free video rentals were quite a perk for a college student. The ugly red polo shirt uniform (with nametag) was not. Rude customers and endless bouts of shelving and rewinding weren't fun. Checking out the porn movies had its, um, ups and downs. Fielding all the calls for "Long Dong Silver" during the whole Clarence Thomas/Anita Hill deal got to be tiresome. I got a kick out of the people who felt the need to justify it: "It's for a bachelor party. It's for my cousin. I just turned eighteen...I usually just watch foreign films." I didn't like to think about the people who checked one out at noon and returned it twenty minutes later. (If you are wondering about why I keep talking about porn, you haven't watched "Clerks.").

Ultimately what I liked about working at The Video Station (you have to keep the "the." It is like The Ohio State University in that way) was the time killing. We made our Employee Picks works of art. I had themes. I would make some serious picks, but would throw in "Roller Boogie", "Xanadu", and "Can't Stop the Music." My friend, Chris, had tribute shelves to Curtis "Booger" Armstrong and Vincent Schiavelli. We spent a lot of time cutting out the heads of Corey Haim from our special "new releases" magazine. We would then tape them over the heads of selected videos. My favorite was "The Ten Commandments." The angle was perfect and the content made me laugh. Hey, it was the early nineties and there was no Photoshop. We had to improvise. (Now get off my lawn).



We goofed off. We worked hard when we had to and slacked whenever we could. Made fun of people and ourselves. We watched movies. We played pretentious film snobs. We got silly after work and drank too much. We were...kids.

And sometimes I kind of miss that. But thankfully that feeling doesn't last too long.