Who ever thought a potato could mean so much?

For every Thanksgiving of my childhood, I remember eating the feast at my Mimi and Pawpaw’s house—crumbly stuffing made of cornbread, hard-boiled eggs, onions, and celery covered in thick brown gravy, peppery green beans that mushed just a little when you pressed them with your tongue to the top of your mouth (from the garden, of course), little toasted yeast rolls (the only thing that was not homemade), thick slices of white- or dark-meat turkey also covered in gravy, and my favorite, Pawpaw’s candied yams. Those sweet potatoes were like having an excuse to eat dessert with the meal. Long thick strips of orange sweet potatoes that turned burnt orange-colored and a little brown after simmering for hours in a thick syrup made of sugar and cinnamon. I remember standing beside the stove with the steam buffeting my face as I stared down into the pot watching bubbles slowly push their way to the top through the syrup, sliding past the potatoes that would cook so slow and so long that they would fall apart on the fork for all their tenderness. When Pawpaw would catch my sister Laura and I stirring around the pot of potatoes, he would cry, “Hang on, now! Don’t stir ‘em, they’ll fall apart. You gotta push ‘em down gently, but never stir ‘em.” Pawpaw’s sweet potatoes were a part of special meals I came to expect; they were a real treat and we always had them at Thanksgiving. So, you didn’t mess with the potatoes on the stove unless you didn’t want to have any.

            Since I have been in college, I have traded off going to Mimi and Pawpaw’s house for Thanksgiving so I could spend the holidays with my Mom or my Nana, both of whom I no longer live close to. So there has been a year or two when I have forgone the taste of Pawpaw’s sweet potatoes, but I always felt like it was not really Thanksgiving without them. This past year I visited my Mom in Texas for the holidays, and my boyfriend came with me for the first time. My sister and I decided to take on the cooking since we knew Mom would not want to slave over the stove (she’s a good cook, but she prefers spending time with her flowers), and it was important to me that the meal would be cooked the right way and as impressive as we could make it, partly because I wanted to impress my boyfriend, and partly because it would feel more like Thanksgiving. (I have been to a few Thanksgivings where we sat in front of the TV while eating, and it never felt special—there’s something about formally sitting at the dinner table all together that just makes the meal special and makes it stand apart from any other dinner.) Needless to say, I just about had a nervous breakdown while cooking this meal. Having never planned a meal this big before, Laura and I just kind of started with no plan at all—we readied the pot for the potatoes because we knew that would take the longest besides the turkey. But, we added too much water and brought the sugar to a boil before the potatoes were sliced, so the syrup became too watery and almost boiled off before the potatoes went in. Eventually, we had the potatoes cooking on one eye of the stove, green beans on another eye, a pan of cornbread in the oven and onions and celery sautéing on yet another eye (for the stuffing), and on the fourth eye, a pot of boiling eggs. And then all the sudden, the stove and oven quit working. The pilot light for the gas stove had gone out because too many eyes were heating at full blast. That is when I began to panic because I thought we had ruined it. I almost cried—well, I did cry, to be honest. I walked into a back room and pulled on my hair for a minute and lay down with my eyes closed while I thought of how to fix it. It was embarrassing—I had been talking so highly of how great the meal would be to my boyfriend and everyone else that I could not stand the thought of it being a failure. I finally went back to the kitchen, poured a glass of cabernet sauvignon to the rim, and finished cooking. The meal turned out fantastic for all our mishaps, and everyone was happy.

            Pawpaw’s sweet potatoes are much more than just sugary candied yams to me. They are a part of some of my best childhood memories of spending time with my Pawpaw, Mimi, and Dad when I did not get to see them often. Those tubers are a source of nostalgia and comfort, something I knew would always taste right and would always be there for a special meal. It was important to have them while I spent the holidays with my Mom to share with her, my step-dad, my step-sister, and my boyfriend something that always made me happy and made me feel close to the people I love. I know this is a dish I will serve my family for the rest of my life, not just because of the sentiments attached to them, but because they’re yummy. Those potatoes ought to feel special. I encourage you to try them, I haven’t heard a person yet who has said they did not like them:

Pawpaw’s Candied Yams

1 pound raw sweet potatoes

1 cup sugar

1 heaping teaspoon ground cinnamon

**For every pound of potatoes, use one cup of sugar

Peel and cut potatoes into long strips. Put all the sugar in a large pot and add small amount of water—just enough to melt the sugar. When sugar melts and comes to a boil, add potatoes. Let boil then turn down heat to a simmer. DO NOT PUT A LID ON THE POT. Takes about 1 to 11/2 hours to cook. DON’T STIR—gently push around pot with a wooden spoon.

After reading the personal narratives from Avakian’s Through the Kitchen Window, I have been thinking of different candidates to interview for the personal food narrative writing assignment. I have considered my Pawpaw because he is the primary cook in my grandparents’ household, and I think his narrative would be an unusual one. Where did he learn his skills? Did he always like cooking? When did he begin cooking the family recipes that he cooks now? Another person I thought of interviewing is a woman from work, an African-American lady who talks to me often of the meals her and her family prepare and eat together. I wonder where she learned to cook some of her favorite meals and what the implications are of preparing and eating meals with her mother, daughter, sister and the rest of her family many nights. Are there certain tasks allotted to specific members of her family? Do her mother and sister and herself have specific recipes that only they prepare for the family? The last person I considered talking to is my Nana, she is geographically closer to me than Pawpaw, and I could spend a weekend with her talking about and cooking food. I think she will be an interesting person to interview for this project because we have talked before about the meals she cooked when my Mom was a kid and when she was married, and whether or not she liked it. Even though she is a white middle-class woman, I think her story will be interesting and different because she grew up in the generation when women were expected to cook for their families and like it, and I get the feeling she didn’t love it so much. Nana is more than likely who I will interview for this project.