So it's Lent. Big excitement. I made fasnachts yesterday after work. I love them, and the tradition in my family of making them. I look forward to it every year. Until it gets here and I actually have to do it. Perhaps its because the last several years when I've made them I've done so alone. Baking is always more fun with someone else. As tradition dictates (i.e. what my dad did), I have to start the dough the Monday night before Fat Tuesday. I'm pretty sure tradition also dictates that I don't start the process until, like, 11 pm. So, I obliged. By midnight I'd produced a giant bowl of potato dough, a mess in the kitchen, and a stomachache from eating said potato dough. Tradition then dictates that you wake up way too early (6ish) to roll out all the dough, let it rise again, cut it into doughnut shapes, poke holes in it, fry it (all 60 some doughnuts), and sugar bomb them. I set my alarm. I did....
learning to refocus