Toluu : Do You KNOW Clarence?™

Do You KNOW Clarence?™

It looks like an All American pumpkin pie, but, it is not. It has even been mistaken for a lookalike, the Yam. Always best served cold, the Sweet Potato, in the form of pie, is a southern delicacy handed down nearly two centuries.

The taste of sweet potato pie is unexpected. The first bite is cold on your lips. A candied flavor that rushes to the tip of your tongue. It is chased by a dynamic-duo of cinnamon and nutmeg. A faint whisper of vanilla in the aftertaste leaves you begging for another bite.

Sweet potato pie is a southern comfort that has been embraced and shared for generations. Ma Dukes, who rarely cooked, let alone baked, would make two; knowing that I would devour an entire pie before it could be served to the rest of the family. The flavor was old school, made with the vanilla flavor, giving you a taste of her Mobile, Alabama game.

Another southerner of Mobile, Abby Fisher, knew the power of sweet potato pie, and included the recipe in a book she published in 1881, What Mrs. Fisher Knows About Old Southern Cooking. It was likely the first cookbook authored by a Black american, and, the former slave poured thirty-five years of experience into it,

“Two pounds of potatoes will make two pies. Boil the potatoes soft; peel and mash fine through a colander while hot; one tablespoonful of butter to be mashed in with the potato. Take five eggs and beat the yelks [yolks] and whites separate and add one gill [one

DYKC?™ #24 — Screamin’ Owl RapidsDecember 4 2008

Earlier this week, I was reminiscing with Ma Dukes, via email. Back and forth we went, sharing about a time in both of our lives, where, in a moment everything changed. It’s been a hot minute since my last story, so, check this out…

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Birthday JukesOctober 17 2008

“I’m sorry I can’t go to your birthday party today.”

“What party?” I say to Jimmy Gonzales, my third grade classmate, who stares at me with those freaky bug-eyes of his.

Jimmy turns and heads off towards the other side of the playground. The yard is filled with children in school uniforms. A turbulent ocean of white shirts, blue vests, corduroy pants, and plaid skirts. The day is almost over, and, the teachers of St. Anthony Catholic School always allow for a final recess before turning us loose on our parents.

In the distance I see Sean Kennedy about to do a fantastic dive off the top of the tire stack into a pile of cedar mulch.

I run straight at him, waving my arms like a monkey on a banana-binge. By the time I reach him, I am out of breath.

“Dude?”

“Do you know anything about a surprise birthday party for me?”

Sean considers his answer, takes a step back, and disappears from view. A second later he is flying off the top of this huge mound of tractor trailer tires, the human cannonball, into the cedar.

When he emerges, his usually perfect Afro is now nappy and covered in bits of mulch.

“Yeah, man,” he nods and begins dusting himself off. “We’re all supposed to go to your house for a party after school.”

My heart starts racing like a thoroughbred at the Long Acres track. I am having a birthday party. My first birthday party. My first surprise birthday party

DYKC?™ Up Close — Tossed Salad CrashSeptember 16 2008

It is surprisingly warm to be so early in the morning. While I adjust the height of my seat post, sweat begins to form on my brow, just under the rim of my world champion striped helmet. It is Monday, and I am getting set for my daily commute to the office.

After checking the tire pressure of both wheels, I throw my leg over the chrome top tube of my ride. Despite getting too much sleep, I am feeling solid and start to roll on.

The Nike dunks clip in to the pedals with ease, and I check my seating position one more time after a couple of revolutions in the saddle.

“Hmm, not quite right”, I think to myself.

Tapping out a cadence on Broadway, I am already annoyed that I’ve lowered my seat too much. My thighs are starting to burn, too early, and despite being clipped into my pedals, I am not getting a strong pull all the way around.

I try to ignore the fact that I spent thirty minutes adjusting my seat just this past weekend and it still feels uncomfortable. The breeze as I roll down Holland street does little to cool my head while the smell of breakfast wafts out of Renee’s Cafe, dancing in my nostrils for just an instant.

Once I hit Davis Sq. my stride comes of age and I begin to concentrate on the road ahead. There are no red lights just outside the square, and I turn it up just a little bit to see if I have got the legs to go hard this morning. The gusting headwind gives me an excuse to ease back as I weave my way

DYKCTV: Traffic.August 3 2008

Music: “Halcyon & On & On”, by Orbital.

Traffic. is also available in HD.