Every Sunday, from the late 1990s to the early 2000s, my mother and I would go grocery shopping through the bustling streets of New York City’s Chinatown. We wandered the fruit and vegetable stalls, where the scent of fresh lychee mingled with the occasional whiff of heavenly durian.
During these shopping trips, my mother taught me how to pick the best fruits and vegetables. Heavy oranges meant they were full of juice. If the grapes were plump, they were good to go. Anything with bruises was a red flag. As for our favorite sweet potato (the Japanese variety — satsumaimo, or さつまいも), Mom also had a clever trick up her sleeve.
“Always choose thin and tall.“He told me in Cantonese.
“Not the heaviest or biggest?” I asked him.
Why you should choose long, skinny sweet potatoes.
Mom shook her head and explained that long, thin potatoes always taste better when cooked than their larger, heavier counterparts. In the oven, long, thin sweet potatoes cook more evenly. The skin caramelizes nicely, and even cooking brings out the natural sweetness of the vegetables.
The larger and thicker the potato, the longer it takes to roast thoroughly, and the more likely you are to end up with a tough, undercooked medium. Larger and rounder sweet potatoes also contain more water, which can reduce the sweetness of the potato.
To drive her point home, Mom roasted several long, thin sweet potatoes with a large, round competitor. After an hour in the oven and extensive taste testing, the verdict was clear. The thin ones were caramelized to perfection, nicely soft, and oh so sweet, while the thick, round one was still a little void in the middle. Maybe it was the placebo effect, or my young taste buds really were that discerning. The taste of the plump potatoes was not that sweet.
I’ve used my mom’s trick for decades, applying it to other varieties of sweet potatoes, making each roast sweeter and more satisfying. But if I can be honest for a second, I have to say that Japanese sweet potatoes are still my favorite, with a flavor that other varieties can’t quite match. Out of the oven, they’re nutty and buttery like big, sweet chestnuts.
Maybe I’m biased. Every roast takes me back to my childhood and those quiet moments with my mom. He didn’t raise me with soft, flowery words. Cantonese is a direct and unadorned language. My mother was no exception. But through our quick experiences with food and the kitchen, she brought sweetness to my young life with the sweetest sweet potato. For that, I will be forever grateful.