Praline Sweet Potatoes
Seems like everyone likes to have a sweet potato dish around Thanksgiving. I used to make some of those generic marshmallow-topped casseroles. Then I found this recipe in the Austin-American Statesman almost 15 years ago. I promise you this: if you make this recipe, you will never, ever go back to anything less. You must use real butter for this recipe. Substitutions will cause you to be visited by the Butter Fairy who will kick your ass in the middle of your Thanksgiving meal. Really.
Praline Sweet Potatoes
- 4-6 large sweet potatoes
- 2 c Brandy Rum Butter
- 1 c graham cracker crumbs
- 1 c pecans
- butter (as much or as little as you see fit, but I will lose all respect for you if you don’t use at least 1/2 stick)
Make the Brandy Rum Butter sauce. You really only need about half of this recipe for the potatoes, but it can be frozen. Usually around Thanksgiving, I make the whole sauce recipe, use half and save the other half to make Praline Sweet Potatoes for Christmas. (It’s also to die for if you put it over ice cream or pound cake. Don’t ask how I know. I just do.)
- 1 c brandy
- 1 c rum
- 1/2 lb butter (2 sticks)
- 1/2 c pure vanilla (still can’t believe this–seems like so much–I usually use about 1/4 c)
- 1/2 Tbsp cinnamon
- 1 cup heavy cream
- 3 c sugar
- 1/4 tsp nutmeg (doesn’t that just seem silly after all the huge amounts of other stuff?)
Using a long match and a deep saucepan, flame and reduce rum and brandy over medium heat to about 1 c liquid. (I usually use a stockpot because I am scared of how high the flames go. If you’re a pyro, use whatever you have handy.) Add the rest and bring to a rolling boil for 3 minutes. (Plus, this stuff boils up really high–you’ll be glad you used the stockpot.) Through the magic of kitchen science, this comes out tasting just like roasted pecans. Can be frozen. (Or drunk out of a mug, or eaten with a spoon, or poured over your morning cereal . . .)
Boil the sweet potatoes until just done. Drain. Cool, remove skins. Cut lengthwise, then across each half in 1/4″ slices. Arrange in a single layer in a well-buttered pan (or two if they’re small). Top with Rum Butter, graham cracker crumbs, and pecans. Dot with butter. Bake at 350 for 30-35 minutes until bubbling. Serves 12. (Or fewer if you force the kids to eat the marshmallow crap while you get a butter and sugar buzz off the “good stuff”.)
I’m Almost A Celebrity Myself
A good friend and very smart person (The Dada Drummer) once explained to me the difference between “fan” and “stalker”. A fan is someone who says, “If I met [celebrity], I think I’d really like them.” A stalker says, “If I met [celebrity], I think they’d really like me.”
Steve Doocy of Fox and Friends
I am a big fan of the people at Fox and Friends. They come sit with me every morning and keep me updated on the news as well as just chatting with me, keeping me company. I’ve always thought Steve Doocy was cute. (If you know the Sugar Daddy, you know I have a thing for blond guys.) Plus, Steve seems funny and friendly. So when I heard him announce that he’d be at my local Borders signing his new book, I was looking forward to it. Had to take the BabyGirl with me, but that was OK. She’s adorable, and therefore usually a good topic of conversation. I’m totally willing to pimp my kid if it means I get to hobnob with handsome celebrities.
I have to admit, the meeting was a little awkward on my end. Steve appears in my living room every morning and shares pictures of his wife and kids, anecdotes about his coworkers, and makes little jokes about everyday things. I feel like we’re friends. But, remembering the Dada Drummer’s wisdom, I didn’t want to seem like the kind of person who felt like we’re friends, ya know? He was so very nice in person. He tried to make small talk with each person there, making everyone feel like they were getting his attention. And, yes, he really is that funny. He even took some pictures with his favorite fans.
Steve Doocy, BabyGirl, Dolanmama
Unfortunately, I was so intent on trying to make sure I was getting a good picture that I didn’t talk to The Dooce as much as I would have liked. (Also, I was trying to NOT seem like a crazy stalker lady.) I was only getting one shot at this picture, and didn’t want my eyes closed or mouth open or BabyGirl pulling down my shirt to flash everyone. I think it turned out pretty well. Considering I had tried to cut my bangs the day before (unrelated to Steve) and got them a little short. My hair has a little flip going on one side, but that’s such an improvement over the last pictures taken of me.
Two weeks ago, a friend took some pictures at a party we were hosting and not only did I look 30 pounds heavier than I am (according to The Queen, who saw the evidence) but my hair, which I thought had a sassy, curled-under feel to it, looked more like Javier Bardem in No Country For Old Men.
This is Javier, but that is exactly what my hair looked like. Only blond.
Seriously, that is what drove me to cut my bangs. And join Curves. I don’t actually have to work out, I just buy the membership and I’ll lose weight, right?
Anyway, meeting Steve was the high point of my day. I wish no one else had shown up so that I could have pulled a chair up to his table and just visited for a while. ‘Cause I know he would have really liked me.
Sucker for Marketing, Part 2 (More Wine)
These wine ad men are earning their keep. I talked about how a label had convinced me to buy a bottle of wine in an earlier post. It has happened again. I was at the store today and saw this on the front of a bottle:
Mad Housewife Merlot
Not only was the picture hilarious, but the blurb on the back made me snort right there on the wine aisle.
Somewhere near the cool shadows of the laundry room. Past the litter box and between the plastic yard toys. This is your time. Time to enjoy a moment to yourself. A moment without the madness. The dishes can wait. Dinner be damned.
Mad Housewife Merlot.
I mean, with a label that mentions laundry and cat litter, who wouldn’t buy a bottle??
UPDATE: The Merlot is actually pretty darn good! The rest of the bottle will be calling my name tonight–”Drink me, baby!”
