Fall had its own rhythm in the little rural town where I grew up. The mornings were cool enough to see your breath when you walked outside. The wind rattled the leaves down the street, and the air always seemed to smell faintly of woodsmoke. Inside, our kitchen became a little world of its own: warm, cinnamon-scented, and glowing from the afternoon light that poured in through the big window above the sink.
Mom had her fall “uniform,” which consisted of a thin turtleneck, jeans, and her favorite half-apron that tied just around her waist. She never wore full aprons, and she never cooked without music on. Usually it was something light—James Taylor, maybe Norah Jones—just enough to hum along to while she worked. On the counter sat a stack of her old fall and Thanksgiving cookbooks, the ones with cracked spines and splattered pages from years of use.
Most weekends, especially in that sweet spot between back-to-school and Halloween, we’d spend part of our Saturdays making something together. Sometimes we’d follow a recipe from those cookbooks, and sometimes we’d make it up as we went, depending on how chilly it was outside or what sounded good that day. But one thing that made a regular appearance didn’t come from a cookbook at all—just three basic kitchen staples.
My Mom’s Roasted Sweet Potato Snack With Peanut Butter and Honey
My mom’s go-to snack was a roasted sweet potato topped with peanut butter, honey, and sea salt. It wasn’t something you planned for or fussed over. She’d just pull a sweet potato from the pantry, give it a quick scrub, and roast it whole until the skin puffed and blistered. The smell would fill the kitchen—that deep, caramelized sweetness that only happens when a potato is left alone in a hot oven for just the right amount of time.
When it came out, she’d set the potato on the counter to cool for a few minutes. I remember standing there, impatient, spoon in hand, watching the steam curl up from the split skin. She’d spread peanut butter across the soft orange flesh, letting it melt just slightly so it dripped into the crevices. Then came the honey—the good stuff from our local farmer’s market—drizzled in a lazy swirl over the top. A pinch of flaky sea salt was the last step, though she never measured. She just knew when it was right.
We’d eat it right there at the counter, the two of us standing side by side, each with our own spoon. The music would still be playing, the wind would still be rattling the windows, and the world felt as small and safe as that kitchen. Years have passed, and our routines have changed. But every time I roast a sweet potato this way, I’m back in that moment—my mom in her turtleneck, the smell of apple cinnamon tea brewing in the air, and the feeling that there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. With my own baby on the way this fall, I’m looking forward to passing down this simple tradition. Maybe one day they’ll remember it the same way I do—not just as a snack, but as a piece of home.
To make this treat just like my mom, scrub up and cut one sweet potato in half, lengthwise. Roast the potato at 425 degrees F until caramelized and fork-tender. This typically takes about 50 minutes depending on the size. Let the potato cool slightly and then spread with natural peanut butter, drizzle with raw honey, and sprinkle with flaky sea salt. Eat immediately!
