Kate gets a snack

"Kate, the sweet potato guy is by the temple."

Bang! My tea mug slams down as I burst from my chair. The sweet potato man is back! And within easy walking distance! No matter that I've just finished lunch and am absolutely not hungry. No matter that I have much work to do before I leave for the day. The sweet potato man is here!

In two quick swoops I have my wallet in hand and have descended upon my sweet-potato-partner-in-crime's desk.

"Apurba, the sweet potato guy is by the temple!"

Apurba is being called into our boss's office. She looks at me with eyes of hunger and longing. "The sweet potato guy!" She says, "Can you please get me some?"

Of course I can, but no time to delay. I charge down the stairs to the laughter of my colleagues behind me. "Kate," one calls out, "he's not going anywhere. It's the Tuesday night market."

I know they're probably right, but my heart won't let me risk it. The street sweet potato, roasted, then tossed with salt, masala seasoning and lime juice is my favorite Delhi street food. But the season for sweet potatoes is almost over . . . I've gone out every day for the past week in search of any sweet potato vendor but have come up empty handed. (Though, to the market neighborhood just out of walking distance from my office, one still see like, 3 or 4 of those guys on every block. Honestly, some neighborhoods get all the luck!).

I emerge outside, turn left past the street chaiwallah, past the public urinals,  past the corner store where I get my daily diet cokes and past the guy selling dumplings of questionable hygiene. Within these 30 seconds no less than three rickshaw cyclists pull up next to me and pound their back seats, indicating availability. I turn them all down, no need for a rickshaw when the sweet potato guy is just by the temple!

And finally, there he is! With his beautiful display of sweet potatoes roasting on coals, surrounded by a ring of limes and some weird red berries. He looks at me, and I'm afraid he'll sense my desperation and raise his potato prices. So, with bored eye I glance quickly at his display, pretend to consider my dumpling options, then nonchalantly raise up two fingers and wiggle my head.

"Two please."

He takes off, peeling, slicing, dicing, mixing and pouring. Within 45 seconds he's poured me two delicious bowls of savory sweet potato (though I worry that he may have put in too much lime juice). I hand him a crisp 50 rupee note; he hands me back 10 rupees change. Excellent! Charged the right price without any haggling! Clearly, my sweet potato guardian angel is watching out for me today.

Back to the office, carefully cradling my starchy gifts in each hand. Poor Apurba is still in with the boss, so she's going to miss out on the steaming hot deliciousness--though I'm sure it will still be good cold. I leave her present on her desk.

I open my sweet potato packet and the aroma waters my mouth.  I waste no time, but dive in, stuffing each sweet-salty chunk into my mouth with the toothpicks cleverly provided.

Ummmmmmmmmmm

Every day is a good day when the sweet potato man comes around.