I like to cook. And I’m really not bad at it. I can whip up a pretty presentable meal without a recipe. But sometimes, my inner cook has a knock-down-drag-out-fight with my inner mad scientist. Last night, the mad scientist won.
So, a week ago I made cream of sweet potato soup. It was lovely, though next time I’ll put in less pepper. I had some left over, and last night as I was making pasta, I decided to turn it into sauce. I once had ravioli in squash sauce in a restaurant and it was delicious. And in my head, sweet potato and squash are basically the same (Magill points out that they are not in fact the same, seeing as they taste compeletly different and one grows above ground and the other under ground, but I stand by my opinion). So I mixed the soup with a container of garlic flavored ricotta, added some milk and some cilantro, and heated it up. It smelled good.
I dished it up, took a picture to document my creation, and gave the plate to Magill to eat.
“What exactly IS this?” he asked, politely.
“Just try it. You’ll like it.”
We both tried it.
“So, what do you think?” I asked.
“It, um, needs salt. Yeah, it’s pretty good if you add salt.”
He was lying, but I forgive him because he was trying to spare my feelings. It was awful. I get kind of queasy thinking about it. And, looking at the picture, I realize that it resembles nothing so much as vomit.
And so, I present Caitlyn’s Sweet Potato Vomit Sauce:
Tonight, we had Chinese takeout.
And, because it proves that I am not in fact hopeless in the kitchen, a picture of the mancake that I made for Magill this morning: