So, here I am writing a quick post (I have no idea how to write a quick post) because I feel blogger’s guilt. Guilt that I haven’t posted in two days. Guilt that I haven’t finished the post I’ve been trying to write for two days. What the heck have I been doing with my time?? Well, for one, I’ve been blowing up sweet potatoes. That’s right. Only a left-handed, Polish, bottled blond could pull this one off. OK. So I blew up a sweet potato today. Big deal. I had another one as a backup.

Today I got back to eating, which I hadn’t done much of since my insides were invaded by Sal of Monella this past weekend. My favorite thing to eat when I’m not overly hungry is a sweet potato. I know. Strange lunch. Get over it. I’m not really a conformist. Newsflash. When I’m not cooking for anyone but myself, I throw the potato in the microwave. Six minutes and I’ve got lunch. Not today. Oh…no…not today. I put the big old sweet potato in the microwave and set it for six minutes. When the timer went off, it wasn’t quite done yet.

It was on the large side and I like my potatoes large….oh yeah. Feeling really on my game today (for a change), I decided to set the microwave to continue cooking for two more minutes and walked away. Then the phone rang. I started yapping and could smell the fan-flipping-tabulous aroma of my almost cooked sweet potato. It smelled even better because I haven’t had much more than broth (gross) and plain pasta (delightful) for the past few days.

I continued to talk and then started to smell smoke. Smoke that smelled like my microwave was ON FIRE. Or something was on fire. Holy sheet. I hung up the phone and headed for the kitchen where I cut through thick smoke. OK, it wasn’t like I was in the movie Backdraft but “thick smoke” makes the story sound better. It was actually just smog. Black smog. And a sweet potato burning out of control in my microwave.

The aroma wasn’t so great anymore. It was similar to burning electrical wires with a grilled potato accent. I put the potato fire out. Almost electrocuted myself in the process. I always wanted curly hair. I had no idea what to do with the flaming potato that was now 1/8 of its original size. I opened the window and hurled it out into the rain. I threw a burning potato out my kitchen window.

I’m really in need of some big time medication. I could have ignited a neighborhood bonfire. Poor little sweet potato. Never had a chance. Now it was laying on the brown grass smoldering.

I was hungry. Sort of. The smell of my burnt microwave was making me a little queasy. My smoke alarm was going bonkers (Hey! It works!) and the smoggy black crap was spreading throughout my mansion, I mean small home. It was freezing outside and pouring rain but I had to open windows. Couldn’t have burnt the potato yesterday when it was 60 and sunny. My timing is always impeccable.

Queasy stomach aside, I decided to put the other sweet potato (the one on stand-by hoping he wasn’t going to burn in a tragic fire like his brother) in the regular oven. For forty-five long minutes. Of course, I kept checking every five minutes to make sure the potato wasn’t encased in flames. If you need my recipe for char-broiled sweet potatoes, just send me a message. It’s a great way to have an excuse to get a brandy-new microwave, too!