As a child, there was no dish I loved and hated more than candied yams. I expected it on our holiday table, even fantasized about the toasty, gooey marshmallows that covered the slimy, watery yams (which were actually sweet potatoes incorrectly named).
When I became a mother, I included the beautifully loathsome dish in every Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner and nagged my sons and husband to eat the concoction, not just the marshmallows, just as I had been told, too.
A few years ago, I finally figured out that tradition wasn’t repeating the same saccharin-sweet mistakes of our forefathers, and that I could make any food I wanted, as long as it captured the spirit of our celebration. READ MORE