A HERETICAL PERVERSION
(…of that classic edible)

Of all the culinary inventions conceived by humans few have ever matched the satisfaction appeal of the humble…doughnut…except perhaps a piece of prime red meat slowly broiling on the pointed end of a stick over a good campfire ( that being an atavistic memory from our prehistoric carnivorous past, no doubt).

Now, alas, the super-nannies of the food police have come up with a heretical perversion of that classic edible, the doughnut, almost noble in the simplicity of its combination of those three basic food groups…sugar…starch…and fat…, all in the name of erroneous modern-day notions about what constitutes “healthy” living. What these health extremists are proposing is that doughnuts should be – BAKED – not – FRIED -. Horrors! That’s an absolute heresy warranting the re-calling of the Inquisition, and making burning-at-the-stake the penalty for it.

A doughnut is not a doughnut if it is “baked” rather than “fried” in hot oil.. Call us purists, even “puritans” about such an issue, but there simply is no comparison in the outcome of the results between the two methods. Here’s why: when doughnut dough is gently immersed into hot oil, all its internal moisture is instantly transformed into –steam- fluffing up its inner mass, while at the same time, the hot oil transforms its outer layer into gentle crunchiness, which is why a true doughnut has such an appeal. Baking the very same dough, however, produces none of that, simply emerging from the oven as a doughy equivalent of erectile dysfunction.

The true home-style doughnut, as once made by our late grandmother, was a truly noble edible of the culinary art, and her “artistry” in producing it was second to none. So, whenever she could be induced to do so, as a child we were allowed to “help” in that production. It was literally a hands-on experience, as she showed us how to properly make up the dough from those three basic ingredients, along with fresh milk (in which a vanilla bean had previously been soaked to give it a hint of that flavor) for the necessary liquid needed to end up with a ball of smooth silky dough.

In turn, that ball was gently rolled out to form a large sheet of dough having just the right thickness, and at that point in the process was when the serious business of properly cutting out the round forms and the inner “holes” took place. Our grandmother was a stern stickler for precision in doing that, and her key instruments for it were a tall water glass to cut out the round forms, and a shot glass, to cut out the smaller “holes”. So, while she neatly cut out the several dozens of round forms with the water glass, we were tasked with the shot glass to cut out those holes.

Needless to say she watched us with an eagle eye to ensure we placed that shot glass precisely in the center of each of those forms she had cut out, and ready to severely admonish us if our precision was not up to her standards. Fortunately, we had very quickly honed that centering skill, so any scolding about our lack of precision was a very rare event.

All that being done, it was then time for the grand finale. Shooing us away to the other side of the kitchen table (for safety’s sake), our grandmother hauled out her favorite cast iron pot, partially filled it with oil, and soon had it sizzling and ready to receive those rings and balls. Her mania for precision was ever present. Before the first ring could be immersed in that hot oil, it had to be at just the right temperature. She could tell by the way a small drop of water would sizzle all over it…when it was right. Very gently she would then slip a half dozen of those rings into the waiting oil. Their slightly explosive foaming as they rose to the surface, slowly turning into a perfect golden brown, had us squirming with great anticipating excitement. It was almost time for the final touches, and we would soon be devouring those delicious golden delights.

At her signal, we rapidly laid out layers of paper towels on the table, and placed two large brown paper bags right near them. One had powdered sugar in it, the other a mixture of both powdered sugar and a hefty amount of cinnamon. With the absolute precision and grace of a toreador, grandmother would then begin skimming the finished doughnuts and their holes onto the paper towels, which we would then pat dry, and drop into those paper bags…alternating half in one, half in the other, then, holding them shut as we shook them up and down to properly coat their contents before placing them on their respective trays.

Having finished with the cooking, while the oil cooled, everything else was cleaned up and put away. Not a single doughnut could be touched until all that was done. Of course by then we were almost frantic with anticipation…as were our parents who, by this time, had magically appeared from nowhere to help us devour those golden delights of our labor. But we didn’t resent them horning in like that, because we had the satisfaction of knowing we had had a hand in producing those wonderful things called…doughnuts…and soon everyone was savoring them…with coffee for the grown-ups… and cool milk for the kids.

Such was our world of the true doughnut…and we all lived healthily…ever after.

CENTURION