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. But my work schedule also dictated that I had to be at work by 9 and I chose sleep over tradition. So my fasnachts waited patiently for me to return and I finished everything when I got home. By 7 pm I had 60 sugared potato doughnuts, another mess, another stomachache, and probably a few new cavities.
In the midst of the frying, which really can't be interrupted, I was interrupted by our upstairs neighbor. We were never given a key to the front entrance when we moved in and they've been delivering our mail for us since we can't get it. Not wanting to deal with a grease fire or blackened doughnuts (they really lose something when burned to a crisp), I'm afraid I was a bit short with her. So after finishing, I kept with the final tradition of fasnachts and delivered some upstairs. I see Nelson has also taken about 30 with him this morning to give out at class or work (or to eat throughout the day?).
With the doughnuts made, the mess cleaned up, my belly feeling better, and 364 days between me and the next batch of fasnachts, I find myself looking forward once again to 'fashnacht day'. Though next year, perhaps I'll team up with someone (tradition also dictates this).
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. But my work schedule also dictated that I had to be at work by 9 and I chose sleep over tradition. So my fasnachts waited patiently for me to return and I finished everything when I got home. By 7 pm I had 60 sugared potato doughnuts, another mess, another stomachache, and probably a few new cavities.
In the midst of the frying, which really can't be interrupted, I was interrupted by our upstairs neighbor. We were never given a key to the front entrance when we moved in and they've been delivering our mail for us since we can't get it. Not wanting to deal with a grease fire or blackened doughnuts (they really lose something when burned to a crisp), I'm afraid I was a bit short with her. So after finishing, I kept with the final tradition of fasnachts and delivered some upstairs. I see Nelson has also taken about 30 with him this morning to give out at class or work (or to eat throughout the day?).
With the doughnuts made, the mess cleaned up, my belly feeling better, and 364 days between me and the next batch of fasnachts, I find myself looking forward once again to 'fashnacht day'. Though next year, perhaps I'll team up with someone (tradition also dictates this).
I definitely thought of you yesterday and how much I missed your fasnachts! I had such a craving, I ended up visiting a local donut shop. Needless to say, they didn't compare to yours. =(
ReplyDeleteI got the fasnaughts started around 9 p.m. here in Urbana. Even though I got up at 6 a.m. to shape them into donuts, I went back to bed for an hour until they rose. Then fried them. Gave them all away, except for the many I ate. Stomach just now getting back to normal after 36 hours.
ReplyDelete