The Power of The Blog

As a reaction to a comment last week from frequent-commenter

Pamela concerning a request that $100 worth of beignets

be delivered to her door, and because she hit the mid-century mark 

yesterday, and because her amazing and gracious daughter

staged a surprise birthday party for her, I arrived at her door

yesterday evening with beignet makings in tow: a bowlful

of pre-made batter, a deep cauldron (after all, this beignet-thing

contains its fair amount of voodoo), canola oil, rolling pin, 

flour, powdered sugar, sieve, dough scraper, paper towels and apron.

Reilly and I set up shop on the deck where we heated oil

to 360° on the propane burner attached to the grill. I rolled out

my spongy dough on the picnic table, sectioned it into neat squares

with my scraper, then plopped (gently!) four little pillows

at a time into the oil, where they bobbed and bubbled, browning

quickly. Steaming, too hot to touch, I sieved a generous cloud

of powdered sugar on each puffed confection. Friends began

to gather, drawn by the scent of fried dough. Each beignet

was snatched up almost as quickly as I sugared it,

and over and over again I warned: "Hot!" 

Because they contain so much air, 

because  the ratio of crisp to puff 

favors puff hands down, beignets are the kind of --

well, let's face it -- doughnut -- that defies the customary image

of a fat-laden, artery-clogging, gut-stuffing blue-collar pastry.

Therefore, one may consume as many as one's heart desires

with no negative consequences. (Warning! This may not be true!)

The best part of all this, after Pam's birthday and the joy

of cooking with my son, was the fact that I was 

cooking to an audience and contributing, once again,

to the swoon-factor of the human race.

Feed someone well -- and I mean

really tap into that primitive desire

to be sated, set off all those bells and whistles

in the brain, and before long

you will have that person at the ground

in front of you, kissing your feet.