Recipe: Explosive Sweet Potatoes

I am happy (and slightly embarrassed) to share a delightful dish I prepared to get me through a week of conference calls, investor meetings and deep research into fiber supplements, cortisol management and adult diaper options for GenSando.

There is a little context required here. My WAY much more better half, Jess Flood, was traveling, which meant I was temporarily responsible for feeding myself. As many of you know (and please comment if you agree), Jess' culinary abilities are on par with and rival Molly Baz, Ina Garten, Martha Stewart, your mom, your grandma and many other great chefs, but with her own special twist on things. Jeezuz, I can't wait till she's home.

Anyhow, with the culinary safety net temporarily removed, I decided to take matters into my own hands. What followed was an ambitious attempt to prepare something involving sweet potatoes, otherwise known as camotes, in a gas oven using a Pyrex "oven safe" glass dish.

The ingredients were simple. The equipment was basic. My confidence, unfortunately, was completely disproportionate to my experience.

My special recipe, which would probably make the Barefoot Contessa put on steel toed work boots and full body armor, was born from my many years of culinary non-experience and pretty much complete lack of kitchen mastery.

I have spent considerable time in kitchens, but somehow that time has never translated into anything resembling actual cooking ability. I know where most of the utensils are kept. I understand that heat is involved. I have successfully consumed food on thousands of occasions. Beyond that, things get a little fuzzy.

So I proceeded.

At some point during the process, something went horribly, beautifully and somewhat inexplicably wrong.

And this is where I need your help.

I would like you to put on your CSI Kitchen hat, examine the photographic evidence closely and determine precisely where I screwed the orange spud.\

I am particularly interested in identifying the exact moment when what started out as "dinner" crossed the invisible line into "crime scene."

Was it the gas oven? Was it the BBQ lighter clicker thingy? Was it the sweet potatoes? Was it the Pyrex "oven safe" glass dish?

Was there some previously unknown interaction between these four seemingly innocent participants that caused the culinary equivalent of a small scale industrial accident?

Or was the real problem simply the person standing in front of the oven?

I am open to all theories.

Bonus points if you can identify the precise moment, physics and Scientology that caused the situation to transition from "I think this might be dinner" to "Maybe I should just order something."

And that is ultimately what happened.

After years of carefully avoiding kitchen mastery, I finally achieved something remarkable. I created a dish so confusing that I was forced to abandon the entire concept of cooking and retreat to the safety of commercially prepared protein.

The evening ended with a can of tuna fish followed by an Uber Eats delivery from a guy named Gerald.

Gerald, whoever you are, you saved me.

So please examine the evidence carefully and tell me where I went wrong. I genuinely want to learn from this experience, although I would prefer that the learning process not involve another dinner becoming a federal investigation.

And for the record, there was no nutritional yeast, air fryer or InstaPot involved. I may be incompetent, but I still have standards.

Have a good day. Onward!