Since reading up on camotes covered in sweetened condensed milk, I waited for the camotero to swing by my street. It took him a few weeks to get here, but he made it last night. As soon as I heard the noise, I peeked out the window to see where he was (and RIGHT across the street he was). I noticed several others, of all ages, rushing to his cart, too. I grabbed my wallet, ran downstairs, and whew, camotero was still there. When I arrived back upstairs, I gleamed with pride with that small piece of tradition in my hand. I looked back out the window to
see who else might be out there, but camotero was gone just as fast as he came.
So, yeah, it pretty much tasted like how it looks. Dry, starchy, and undercooked, but I forgive camotero this time for having a bad sweet potato day. I will try him again next time, but maybe I'll do the roasted plantains instead. He said he's not around these parts often because he's got a lot of ground to cover. Is this yet another endearing, dying tradition?
Not long thereafter, the tamales Qaxaqueños guy strolled up with his goods. But, Nick had had enough of my street-food antics for the night, and he gave me a firm look and a firm, "NO!"