We gather early to sink our fingers into mounds of yeasty dough. Chunks of the soft, almost too sticky squishiness are rolled to floured flatness on the countertop. Two-year old granddaugher, perches on the bar stool, and presses the round cutter into the prepared rectangle while her dad adds an extra push, his strong hand around the smaller one. The younger face beams as the circle twists free like a piece from a puzzle. Clutching the tinier cutter, tongue lolling from side of mouth, she and dad collaborate again to punch out a small round hole from the first circle. Her eyes follow the puffy creation as it's transported by spatula to cookie sheet. Oblivious to smudges of flour on elbows and nose, she's eager to do it again.
Other family teams cut more yeasty hole-in-the-middle circles. The table is soon covered with cookie sheets full of the carefully spaced cut-outs, laying like over-sized lifesavers. The wait is agonizing as mouths water, anticipating the first warm, sugary bite. The shapes must grow to just the right fatness, get plopped into hot oil until perfectly browned, then dipped into glazey sweetness and cooled just enough-enough is relative depending on which mouth is feeding- before the feasting begins.
It's Donut Day with a household of relatives who hang out from morning until afternoon making and eating the satisfying pastries. Older adults visit, coffee in hand. Techno generation makes eye contact with cellular apps and web, preserving memories instantly online; at times all gathered around the same palm to view the latest pixel taken. Kid cousins run, hide-and-seek, laugh and cry. The cooking oil makes eyes burn. Windows open to let in new air and coolness. Other family gatherings may get preempted by necessary engagements, but calendars hold only one appointment on this day of sacred tradition.
Thank heaven for leaven! For Homemade Donuts!
