Appreciating his Moxie

“In the days of my youth, I was . . .“ known to eat 地瓜, (a.k.a.: sweet potato) in the street.  Out in front of the office where I worked, as the last century came to an close, there was a short gent selling yams out of a barrel, which served as his mobile oven.  This rudimentary cooker was set upon the back of the three-wheeled cart that he pedalled in and out of the neighborhood.  Served in a sheet of newspaper, a piping hot sweet potato was a convenient, and rather affordable lunch, there in the middle of nowhere.

My wife, who also worked in the same office, insisted I was not to bring a half eaten sweet potato into the building, lest I expose myself as a bumpkin.  Indeed buying a yam from such a vendor, let alone eating one on the street was an absolute affront to decency.  I had my yams, on the run. 

Tonight, I threw four sweet potatoes in the oven.  My wife ended up getting home on the late side.  The yams wound up being the holdover meal.  “It smells like Christmas!” yelled my little one as she bounded in, home from school.   “No love, that’s the ‘end of last century’ smell.”   I poke them once and poke them twice; still hard.   I forget about them.  Hit by the smell as I return down the stairs I assume they’ve all been burned.  In fact, they’re pretty hard to ruin. 

The yams I once bought in 1999, cost about two kuai .  I developed a rapport with the sturdy vendor who seemed educated, sensible, perhaps a decade older than I was at the time.  One day I gave him a fifty and told him to ‘keep-the-change.’  He refused and said to me: “If you want to talk about something big, we can talk.  There are some big things we can do if you want to put some proper investment together.”  I remember appreciating his moxie.  Perhaps he’s done well for himself.

Those potatoes were dry.  But tonight they’re mushed moist with butter.