Рецепт Mediterranean Baked Sweet Potatoes
Burning campfire air and cricket forest song as we picked our way over the gravel road with bare feet. Hopscotch hopscotch hot coals until we were on solid ground in front of the campground’s swing set, abandoned in the dusk. The trees, heavy with pollen, were outlined in the fading light all around us.
Tamara claimed one swing and I jumped on the other. On the way up to Cane Creek in the back of her parents’ car, we had pointed out every Ford on the road with glee. Each car was a vehicular homage to the object of our 6th grade affection, Brandon Ford, a short blonde kid with freckles. Screaming, “FORD!” and dissolving into giggles was the closest either of us would ever come to being Brandon’s girlfriend (sad, I know), so we relished it.
Now we practiced swinging with all our might on the solid swing set, kicking higher and higher, calling out one of the nick names we’d made up for Brandon or our secondary crush, Chris — always have a backup, just in case — with each forward arc.
“BRANDON!”
“FORD!”
“SNAPPING TURTLE!”
“FRECKLES!”
“MR. PIGGY!”
Swishing next to my best friend in the spring darkness, my lungs filled with satisfaction etched in longing: her company fed me even while I wished for Brandon’s (or Chris’s, I wasn’t picky) and that tinge of possibility when they were around. Would one of them look at me? Would one of them talk to me? Would one of them ever say something that tipped our balance away from friendship, away from just classmates and toward a held hand, toward even a kiss? These thoughts swirled in my head as the woods rushed past — to and fro, to and fro. We kicked our muddy feet, singing each name.
When we had swung ourselves dizzy, we ran back through the woods to Tamara’s parents, who had been smoking cigarettes and talking with friends into the evening. We piled into the car to drive the hour back to Tamara’s house, where we ate Cheetos and timed who could lie on a bag of frozen peas the longest.
Tonight, Raleigh smells like Cane Creek: people have started up their grills and filled the pollen-tinged air with the scent of charcoal and fire. Mike and I have agreed that we need to clean off the balcony furniture soon so we can join everyone in flinging open the doors and eating outside. The first thing I want to bring out to our balcony table is a platter of these fresh, zippy, sweet-and-tangy sweet potatoes. Breathe in deeply (unless you have allergies, in which case, wait until after it rains a few more times) and enjoy the first bits of spring!
One year ago: Easter Sides: The Best Macaroni Salad Ever & Sundried Tomato Pasta Salad
Two years ago: Samoa Monkey Bread with Ganache Dipping Sauce
- Three years ago: Pumpkin Oat Snack Cake with Broiled Coconut Icing
- Four years ago: Rich Ice Cream and Coffee Cheesecake
- Five years ago: Banana Nut Bread Waffles