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Sweet Potato Black Bean Tacos — When the Turkey’s Gone and the Kitchen Needs a Reset

Post-Thanksgiving quiet. Jim and Diane are back in Duluth. The house is down to its core four: me, Jessica, Sofia, and Diego, who is almost four months old and has begun making a sound that Jessica insists is "mama" and I insist is "random vocalization." He says "mah" repeatedly while staring at various objects: the ceiling fan, the dog through the window, a spoon. If "mah" means "mama," then Diego believes his mother is a ceiling fan. I'm letting Jessica have this one. She needs the win.

The leftovers lasted four days. Turkey became turkey soup (my annual tradition — carcass, vegetables, broth, white beans, green chiles). Turkey became turkey enchiladas. Turkey became turkey sandwiches with cranberry and Hatch green chile on sourdough, which is my signature leftover creation and which Jessica calls "the only reason I don't complain about buying a twenty-pound turkey for twelve people." The sandwiches are transcendent. Sweet from the cranberry, smoky from the turkey, earthy from the chile, crunchy from the bread. I eat them standing at the counter and feel nothing but gratitude.

Sofia has started counting. Not well — she goes one, two, three, five, seven, ten — but with confidence, which I've decided is more important than accuracy at this age. She counts everything: stairs, crackers, fingers, Diego's toes (she counted eight, which is incorrect but close). Jessica is teaching her letters. I'm teaching her flavors — salty, sweet, sour, spicy. She knows "spicy" because she accidentally ate a piece of jalapeño off my plate last month and her face went through five stages of grief in four seconds. She now points at anything green and says "spicy?" which is both cautious and not entirely wrong in this household.

On shift, the holiday season brings a different kind of call. More medical emergencies — heart attacks from holiday stress, slips and falls from decorating, the occasional cooking fire from someone who deep-fries a turkey without reading the instructions. We responded to a turkey fryer fire on Thanksgiving Day itself — a guy in a cul-de-sac in Tempe who dropped a partially frozen turkey into a vat of 350-degree peanut oil and turned his patio into a fireball. Nobody was hurt. The patio was totaled. The turkey was, amazingly, edible. I told him this as I was rolling up the hose and he said "do you want some?" and I said "sir, we just put out the fire your turkey caused" and he said "so... no?" and I said "I'll take a leg." Because I am a firefighter and I have never turned down food.

By day five, even the greatest leftover sandwich in the history of Thanksgiving — and I stand by that claim — stops calling to you. The carcass was stripped, the broth was made, the enchiladas were consumed, and the house needed a hard reset in the form of something that had never touched a turkey. Sofia had been pointing at everything green and saying “spicy?” all week, which gave me the excuse I needed to lean into exactly that. These sweet potato black bean tacos hit the earthy-smoky-just-spicy-enough notes that felt right after the richness of four days of holiday cooking, and Sofia got to be exactly right about the green stuff for once.

Sweet Potato Black Bean Tacos

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 25 min | Total Time: 40 min | Servings: 4 (2 tacos each)

Ingredients

  • 2 medium sweet potatoes (about 1 1/2 lbs), peeled and cut into 1/2-inch cubes
  • 1 can (15 oz) black beans, drained and rinsed
  • 2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
  • 1 teaspoon cumin
  • 1 teaspoon smoked paprika
  • 1/2 teaspoon chili powder
  • 1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
  • 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper (optional)
  • 1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
  • 8 small corn or flour tortillas, warmed
  • 1/2 cup red onion, finely diced
  • 1 cup shredded purple cabbage
  • 1 avocado, sliced or roughly mashed
  • 1/4 cup fresh cilantro, roughly chopped
  • 2 limes, cut into wedges
  • Sour cream or plain Greek yogurt, for serving (optional)
  • Hot sauce, for serving (optional)

Instructions

  1. Preheat and prep. Heat your oven to 425°F. Line a large rimmed baking sheet with parchment paper.
  2. Season the sweet potatoes. Toss the cubed sweet potatoes with 1 1/2 tablespoons of olive oil, the cumin, smoked paprika, chili powder, garlic powder, cayenne (if using), and salt. Spread in a single layer on the prepared baking sheet — don’t crowd them or they’ll steam instead of roast.
  3. Roast until caramelized. Roast for 20–25 minutes, flipping once halfway through, until the sweet potatoes are tender inside and lightly caramelized and crispy on the edges.
  4. Warm the beans. About 5 minutes before the sweet potatoes are done, heat the remaining 1/2 tablespoon of olive oil in a small skillet over medium heat. Add the drained black beans and a pinch of salt. Cook, stirring occasionally, until warmed through, about 3–4 minutes. Squeeze in a little lime juice.
  5. Warm the tortillas. Wrap the tortillas in a damp paper towel and microwave for 30–45 seconds, or char them directly over a gas burner flame for 10–15 seconds per side for extra flavor.
  6. Build the tacos. Layer each tortilla with a spoonful of warm black beans, a few pieces of roasted sweet potato, shredded cabbage, red onion, and avocado. Top with fresh cilantro and a squeeze of lime.
  7. Finish and serve. Add a drizzle of sour cream or Greek yogurt and a dash of hot sauce if desired. Serve immediately with extra lime wedges on the side.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 420 | Protein: 13g | Fat: 14g | Carbs: 64g | Fiber: 14g | Sodium: 420mg

Marcus Rivera
About the cook who shared this
Marcus Rivera
Week 87 of Marcus’s 30-year story · Phoenix, Arizona
Marcus is a Phoenix firefighter, a husband, a dad of two, and the kind of guy who'd hand you a plate of brisket before he'd shake your hand. He grew up watching his father Roberto grill carne asada every Sunday in the backyard, and that tradition runs through everything he cooks. He's won a couple of local BBQ competitions, built an outdoor kitchen his wife calls "the altar," and feeds his fire crew on every shift. For Marcus, cooking isn't a hobby — it's how he shows up for the people he loves.

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