#Delicious from roadside stalls # Baked sweet potatoes
There is a roadside stall called baked sweet potato, which is not the chestnut potato it is today, nor is it the honey potato that flows sugar. It's just plain yellow-core sweet potato.
It doesn't require beautiful packaging, it doesn't need excessive publicity. All it takes is a stove surrounded by a few charcoal fires and a rusty tin sheet.
The stove can no longer see its original color, and it is really warm to take a piece in the arms of the cold winter. Snowflakes hit your face and you can't open your eyes, but the aroma in your nose reminds you to get home and "kill it" quickly.
Peel off its charred skin, orange-yellow with speckled scorched black, take a bite, fragrant, sweet, sticky, soft. Sometimes after eating, I will pick up the skin and lick it.
Yes! It was a unique roadside smell, a smell that could not be baked in an oven in a mall. The smell spilled over the heavens and the earth, sprinkled on the memories of the road.
