Matchstick Sweet Potato Fries

This isn't really a recipe, just another way to make sweet potato fries! Normally I bake them in the oven, but while watching Ina Garten on Barefoot Contessa, I saw her make these "matchstick fries."  They looked delicious, and reminded me of the fries from J. Alexanders!  Of course, all we had were sweet potatoes, and would you believe one potato was more than enough for Blake and I! We are loving our new $25.00 grill, and because of that decided to make hamburgers tonight.  Did I mention this is the only hamburger I've ever made/eaten since I was 6.  I truly did not like ground beef for the longest time, but figured I should give it another go, since it has been twenty years! It was good too! Perhaps it was the blue cheese, onion, or BBQ sauce I slathered on it, but either way I ate it. 

Recipe
1 Sweet Potato - sliced very thin
1-2 Cups oil - enough to have at least 1" in the pot
Salt and Pepper
Grated Parmesan (optional)

1.  Begin by slicing the sweet potato into very thin slices.  A good tip is to cut a thin slice off one side and so that you can set the sweet potato down without it rolling all over the table.

2.  Soak the sweet potato slices in cold water for a few minutes, or until ready to fry. 

3.  Make sure to dry off the sweet potatoes before adding them to the oil.  Heat up the oil to 350 degrees.  If you don't have a thermometer (like me!), carefully spray a drop or two of water into the pot. If it bubbles and pops it's ready.  Or, as a more safe method, drop a sweet potato in to test it until it crisps up in about 4 minutes. 

4.  When the oil is ready, drop 1-2 handfuls of sweet potatoes into the oil. Stand back, so you don't get splattered by the boiling hot oil! Remove once browned and crispy (about 4-5 minutes), and place onto a paper towel.  Sprinkle immediately with salt, pepper, and Parmesan. 

5.  Place on a cookie sheet and store in the oven at 350 degrees until ready to serve. 
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Question #10
Q: List your most embarrassing moment.

A:  This is pretty much impossible to answer.  A) Because it's Monday and my brain is not working yet and  B) Because if you know me, you know I'm a clutz and have had way too many embarrassing moments to just choose one.  I tend to trip, fall, and/or hurt myself in any way possible.  I guess if I had to choose one right now, I'd pick when I fell off my bike. 

Did I mention that I fell off my bike when I was 24?  Blake and I decided to ride our bikes to get ice cream at Custard Time, which is only about 1/4 a mile away from our apartment.  On our way home, we had to ride through a small construction zone where they were repairing the street.  While turning from the gravel back onto the pavement, my bike slid right out from under me.  What did Blake do you ask?!?! His EXACT words (while he pointed at me) were "shut up, no way!"  Yes, that's right, he pointed at me, laughing... until I began to cry, at which point he ran over and helped me.

Some random lady pulled up and asked if I was okay and Blake lifted the bike off from on top of me.  Then, another car pulled up... and another one.  A man jumped out of one car saying "I'm a paramedic!" While checking my shoulder, I continued to cry and tell everyone that I didn't have insurance and so they couldn't call 911.  Finally, after being fed up with all the attention and people staring at me, I told Blake we should go home.  At this point, I realized that my elbow was stuck in the bent position.  Me, being the stubborn person I am, decided I was riding that bike home no matter what it took.  So, as I rode my bike, one handed, crying, covered in dirt, and bleeding from multiple rode burns, people walked their dogs staring at me in concern/with judgement.

Once home, I was exhausted, and realized we had absolutely NO first aid materials.  We decided to make a trip up to CVS.  At this point, my arm was still stuck and I was beginning to get concerned.  Blake thought it might be out of place, as did I, so once we got home and doused me in peroxide, we made a plan.  Blake was going to grab my wrist while I slammed my arm down as hard as I could.  On the count of three... one... two... THREE! Annnnnd, nothing.  Didn't even budge. So, I headed to my parents, told my dad to drive me to the ER and on our way we went.

On the way to the ER, my dad stated, "They're probably going to wonder what is wrong with us."  Confused I asked what he was talking about, in which he explained that he had just returned from the ER a couple hours earlier after being stung by 13 bees.

At that moment, I realized I had no chance.  That broken elbow was gonna happen one way or another.  It is in my blood.