Sweet potato biscones

I’ve had two difficulties with our transition to shopping for fruits and vegetables exclusively at the farmers’ market. One, I never seem to get enough food to last us to the next market, and two, I find myself in a roasting rut.

Roasted potatoes, roasted squash, roasted cauliflower, roasted brussel sprouts—all delicious, yes, but sometimes I just want more from my vegetables. I came to the cross section of these two problems when I realized that two days from Saturday’s market I had exactly one sweet potato—and I didn’t want to roast it.

Today was the first cold day in October. We’ve had chilly and wet—and surprisingly warm—but today, scarves became more than accessories. Winter snuck in to remind us that Chicago is about to get serious. Don’t get the wrong idea, I didn’t zip the lining into my trench. However, I did consider it.

Enter sweet potato biscuits. Something warm, something savory, something that can be made with just one sweet potato.

A quick search through Martha Stewart’s Everyday Food app and I had a recipe. The bad news: My pantry was not stocked with all of the ingredients. I did like Martha and got crafty.

Martha’s recipe calls for chilled sweet potato puree, “see page 233.”

…So I boiled The One until tender, mashed it with a fork (same pot points), and set it on the porch to cool. Chilled sweet potato puree, check.

While the SPP C-ed, I started measuring my drys. Flour, baking powder, baking soda, salt… light-brown sugar! Oh, Martha. You think you can fool me so easily? Joy the Baker, for the win.

Next, Martha really got serious: buttermilk. Cue the lightning and thunder, Jay from last night’s Halloween episode of Modern Family. Not so bad, actually. Turns out you can make buttermilk from vinegar and regular milk. Bangarang, Rufio!

Thus, with all my components manufactured I began compiling. Mix up the dough, knead it (read: smush it together on your too-small cutting board), roll it out (smush it in a downwards motion), cut the dough into rounds (ahem, tear off regular-ish sizes and smush them into rounds), shove together on baking sheet (no really, that’s what she recommends), brush with butter, and bake.

The twenty-minute oven period is long enough to sweep the eighth-biscuit worth of crumbs off the floor and do just enough dishes to make your request that your boyfriend finish the washing reasonable.

Out of the oven and split in half, the biscuits are beautifully golden and flecked with orange, a tangerine reminder of their humble origins. I topped one with butter and drizzled it liberally with honey. It was quite dense in a way that I liked, almost like a scone (maybe a factor of my kneading technique). The butter melted into the hot biscone, creating a tender, salty inside while the top was slightly crispy and sticky from the sweet, floral honey.

Martha sure does know a thing or two about baking.