I’ve said it before, and I’ll no doubt say it again: Potatoes are awesome. Sweet things are doubly awesome. Sweet Potatoes, however: You are not awesome, not potatoes, and not particularly sweet to boot. You are what my eleventh grade English teacher would call a misfuckingnomer (I may be paraphrasing). I don’t know if there’s technically a difference here, but you fuckers are all yams to me. Nothing but a bunch of low-down dirty roots.
Yams (from the Latin iam, meaning that unfortunate feeling of remorse you get when you think you’re passing wind silently in a noisy crowd, only to have that crowd suddenly grow quiet at the crucial moment, exposing you to instant mass judgement), you are an unpleasant reminder of all that was wrong with baby food - too mushy, too bland, too heavily flavored (which ought to be a contradiction, but dammit you manage to pull it off). I don’t know which is more disturbing to me about you - your Oompa-loompa coloring or your cloying flavor with that dentist-grade-toothpolish sweetness that gives fructose a bad name. You have almost (but not quite) managed to make me hate cinnamon, wonderful cinnamon, thanks to your close collusion with the stuff.
And then there’s sweet potato pie, which as I’ve said before, is a rank degradation of all things pastry. Why in hell would someone waste a gorgeous flaky crust on a mealy, fibrous, puce vegetable when there are so many lovely and delicious fruits out there just waiting to be baked? Serving someone sweet potato pie is like serving them warm vomit en croute - sure you made the effort, but really, you shouldn’t have. You don’t even have the decency to deep-fry properly. What sort of food comes out of a fryer soggier than it went in? Even boiling oil doesn’t make you any better. If that’s not a perfect foretaste of what Hell is like, I don’t know what is.
1/10 for trying to besmirch the good name of the holy spud.
image via wikipedia (Liez)