The yam doesn't get a lot of love.
Maybe it's syntax-related; after all, yam is one consonant away from yak. Then there's the mix-up involving the real yam, which is rarely seen in this country, but a staple in Africa, Asia and the Caribbean. Long ago, its familiar American cousin, the dark-skinned, orange-fleshed sweet potato, was erroneously labeled a yam, and the name stuck.
It's probably its role as a marshmallow-coated staple of the Thanksgiving table that has sent the haters, torches lit, pitchforks drawn, descending upon the American "yam." For years, I couldn't touch them, a hangover from one too many 1970s Thanksgivings, when my mother would drown the syrupy canned variety in brown sugar and butter.
Fortunately, I had a yam epiphany. It was seven years ago, when I became entranced by a brined turkey recipe from "The Splendid Table" host Lynne Rossetto Kasper, published in Saveur magazine.
Kasper's formula, brimming with apple and basil accents, has since become a happy Thanksgiving ritual at our house, and I highly recommend it (find it at www.saveur.com). She added a few side dish ideas to the story, including a Thai-inspired spin on roasted yams.
For the first time in forever, their autumnal color — is it orange, or terra cotta, or some mix of both? — grabbed my eye. Even better, the ginger/green onion/lime finish felt a world apart from the dreaded word "candied."
The dish was a big hit with our guests — no surprise, since Kasper is incapable of steering this cook awry — and that's how the yam (sorry, the sweet potato) returned, all those years later, to my Thanksgiving rotation.
My Yam/Sweet Potato Odyssey continues. This year, I might emphasize the root's earthy qualities by adding mushrooms. Perhaps I'll yield valuable oven space to another side dish and go the salad route. Or maybe I'll silently demonstrate what a great team player the whatever-you-want-to-call-it can be, hiding it in plain sight among other roasted vegetables.
