Ricochet is the best place on the internet to discuss the issues of the day, either through commenting on posts or writing your own for our active and dynamic community in a fully moderated environment. In addition, the Ricochet Audio Network offers over 50 original podcasts with new episodes released every day.
I Love the Smell of Fried Dough in the Morning. . .
My parish is having its annual Bazaar right now and the Toder family is manning a table for food ticket sales during the entire time. Today is the fourth and final day. The folks at the fried dough concession are all friends of ours and keep giving my children extra bags of fried dough. Although I once discovered the world’s best breakfast, I must say that dough, fried the night before and re-heated in the toaster, is very very delicious. With my fresh warm cafe au lait, I close my eyes and imagine I am back at the Cafe du Monde in New Orleans with warm, sweet beignets in front of me…
A little heaven here in New York…
Published in General
I love fried dough, too. It doesn’t love me back, though. /-:
Ditto here. About any sort of dough is out to kill me.
Paging @davecarter. Fried dough at the fair is wonderful.
I see gallbladder removal in your future.
Funnel cakes.
The smell of fried dough in the morning sounds wonderful, but nothing beats the aroma of bacon!
Ours are bigger, more like beignets.
They are being served up by lots of Italian-Americans, one Polish and one Ghanian priest.
Lovely. I’m a fried-dough junkie. My sister, who came to visit from the UK in the early 90s had never experienced any such thing. (The Brits are big on things like crustless cucumber and watercress sandwiches at fairs and such). One of her fondest memories is the estate auction that I took her to out here in farm country where she bid on, and won, an ancient funnel-cake pitcher, so she could make her own when she got home (we both know you can use any sort of jug to pour the batter out of, but it was the concept of the whole thing. And she couldn’t bid on, say, an oak dining-room table, with any prospect of getting it into her luggage . . . ).
Stop, stop!…If you care about me at all: Please cease and desist – I’m so hungry right now, I’m salivating on my keyboard! OM NOM NOM!
Thank you, CB, for the original post. There’s a lot of heavy stuff here today, and your views on fried dough lighten my day.
Nah. I’m fending off Type II diabetes with a paleo-ish diet. Works great, but flour-based products are my nemesis.
My pleasure, Jim!
– Colleen
By the way, I hate to brag (like I expect you people to believe that), but I just polished off another just now. And here’s what’s waiting on my counter…
They’re hard to see but it’s a paper bag with two fried doughs sitting at the bottom in a pile of confectioners sugar. Mmmm…
I am in the same boat as Phil with the type II. I think we are born with a pancreas that has only so much to insulin for a given life time. I was fat, now I am less so, but it is a race to see which expires first, me or my pancreas. It seems I have nearly used my allotment of those life affirming carbohydrates, and need to husband the remaining insulin that I was naturally bequeathed.
Until the kids bioengineer a suitable recourse for monitoring and automatically dosing my bloodstream, and I could afford it, I abstain from those evil, but delightful fatty, fried, fabulous, friendly, fritters.
Devil carbs be gone I say… He is so seductive.
Is that alive?
No, it’s a greasy paper sack with two remaining pieces of fried dough at the bottom. I took the picture with my phone looking down into the bag.
High blood sugar is the one ailment that has passed me by. Bring on the carbs (and sugar)!
My Italian-heritage father in law makes fried dough on Christmas mornings.
Mmm, Café du Monde. I haven’t had chickory coffee in a long time; I wish it were a little easier to find out here on the west coast.
We (Mrs. Tabby and I) were amused, upon moving to New York state, at the honesty of naming it “fried dough.” We don’t remember seeing it (except in funnel cake form) when we lived in southern California. Either it wasn’t available, or it was was marketed with some name designed to obscure it’s true nature (but I can’t remember the names used).
Chicory coffee
Are you carb-shaming CB Toder? Hehe . . .
I’m not familiar with fried dough. Doughnuts, yes. Beignets, yes. Funnel cakes, yes. Also, hush puppies, if you stretch the definition a bit. But “fried dough” sounds like it needs a marketing plan, stat.
Not really.
It’s fried. It’s covered in powdered sugar. Hello? It sells itself!
I hear you, and if you’re within reach of the aroma, no selling is necessary. But, come on. It needs a better name, even if it’s just to help with the inevitable post-gustation remorse. “I had a couple of beignets” sounds so much more forgivable than “I just had a plate of fried dough.”
Sorry, but I have no trouble drooling and grinning like a fool at the words “fried dough.”
That’s both crustless cucumber and watercress on the same sandwich?
Oh, you mad, mad thrill seekers!
Well, now you’ve made me homesick for only about the 127th time today. My family said that when my Dad was little, he referred to beignets as “bandaids.” I call them “a taste of heaven.” Thanks for the shout-out and a reminder of good times!
What if you kneaded bacon into the dough and fried them simultaneously?
For maximum enjoyment, I’d keep these separate in the cooking process. On the plate or in the tummy, simultaneous would be divine.