It wasn't until I was a grown-up that I learned you could simply bake a sweet potato, open it up, add butter and salt, and devour.
I'd always been led to believe sweet potatoes had marshmallows and vanilla and other abominations, and no, thanks.
Cranky's mom, the frugal Yankee, taught me the plain, baked way.
And today I figured, "Let's pile that whole Russet baggage on this thing." Why not?
The sweet potato was so, so huge we could each only eat one quarter. (Leftovers!)
It was buttered and salted, then drenched with sour cream and sprinkled with chives. Only bacon bits were missing, and I think they might have been really good, too.