Since Thanksgiving was just last week, I have to share about the killer yams I made. (Killer meaning awesome, delicious, delightful, etc. not deadly; because that wouldn’t be a very happy Thanksgiving, now would it.) We spent Thanksgiving with my family this year. My family always seems shocked when I can cook. I think this stems back to my freshman year of college, which greatly affected my view of cooking. Too often I would see young men come lurking around dinnertime looking for free handouts. I wasn’t amused. I was too prideful to follow the old saying that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Plus, being a poor college student, I couldn’t afford it. The only time I made food for young men was for holidays or as a thank you if they helped me out with something. They had to earn their meals from me. (My husband earned many meals by buying me a ring.) Because of my lack of cooking, many assumed it meant I didn’t know how to cook. While I’m not a master of culi...