One word: motherfuckingsweetpotatolatke
You may be unfamiliar with this word, so let’s sound it out, mə-t hər fə-kin swēt pə-ˈtā-tō lät-kə.
In other words, I made some Sweet Potato Potato Pancakes. The double use of the word potato is to denote that it was a potato pancake—also known as a latke— made with sweet potatoes rather than russets, NOT a breakfast pancake made from sweet potatoes.
This tasty carb bomb was a breakfast experiment birthed from mid-Sunday morning boredom like an infant child exiting the womb of an Old Testament foodie turned harlot cast from the Holy Temple of Rootis Tuberous for her harloting ways1 then topped with a runny egg. The motherfuckingsweetpotatolatke was topped with an egg, not the harlot’s child. Of course I don’t doubt there’s a passage in the Bible somewhere that advises—and, or prohibits— the use of an egg (or egg substitute) as a fashion accessory when newborns are concerned. I think it has to do with the fact that chickens use birth control, or eat their own eggs or something like that. Google it; it’s out there (perhaps not). Whatever, the latke was amazeballs!
Sadly, I was a bit too aroused by the egg and motherfuckingsweetpotatolatke I had just birthed from my O.T. harlot-friendly kitchen and only managed to capture a shitty iPhone photo before I shoved the eggy, carby, goodness down my throat. Thank the Cat 5 Cooking, crap food photography chowhounds above for leftovers, a slow Monday morning, and 2nd chances. As you can see, I fucked that second chance up, but did get a slightly better photo than I did on Sunday!
I think we can all agree that this is another post in a long line of posts dating back to April 2005 that did not need to be written. No one cares if I made a motherfuckingsweetpotatolatke or not. And to be honest, no one probably should. But, if I’m burning nervous energy writing about making a motherfuckingsweetpotatolatke, then I am not thinking about the week’s coming Presidential election and how another Trump victory will negatively impact the financial, geographical location, and well being of my family’s life.
I know that negative visualization assists us in formulating plans for when life goes pear-shaped, as well as to help us to find gratitude for what brings true happiness in a non-hedonic way: a roof—any roof— over our head, love, inner peace, good health, etc.). Still, sometimes I just want to make motherfuckingsweetpotatolatkes and call it a day.
“Some things are in our control and others not. Things in our control are opinion, pursuit, desire, aversion, and, in a word, whatever are our own actions. Things not in our control are body, property, reputation, command, and, in one word, whatever are not our own actions.” — Epictetus (50 A.D.—135 A.D.)
I was confident that America was better than this back in 2016. I now know better and accept that we are not. Whatever the outcome of Tuesday’s election, all I can control are my own values, opinions, and to vote accordingly. Then I plan to eat a motherfuckingsweetpotatolatke as Rome burns.