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East Hampton Crullers

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Who doesn’t love a donut?  In the MA/NH area where I have lived and I now frequent to visit family, there is a Dunkin Donuts every two miles, sometimes closer.  I often refer to it as the mecca of New Englanders.  I think there’s one in northern Columbus, Ohio, and whenever my brother flies in from California he goes there before heading south to my mom’s.  Donuts are a big deal.  I suspect that was even more true back in the day when people made them at home.  I’m talking back before my day.  I mean, I remember my mom making them once in a while, but they were certainly not an every week treat.

I was  a little disappointed in the process from Clementine Paddleford’s The Great American Cookbook.  These were in the New York section.  Most of the time there’s a little story about who CP met and maybe how the recipe came about, but this one didn’t have a story, so we are left to our imagination.  The problem was that my dough was a big soppy mess.  I had to add a lot of extra flour just to be able to cut them.   And I still had to use a spatula to scrape them up.  It was supposed to make two dozen and I was only able to make eight because of the extra flexibility.  I did manage to make a few holes with my scraps.

They had such promise:  half-and-half, buttermilk, and a 1/2 cup of egg yolks, which the book said would be about six extra-large eggs and was actually about 8 large.  Yes, I will be eating egg white omelettes for the rest of the week.

‘I have no idea why they were so hard to handle.  I checked about five times to make sure I used the right amount of flour.   Whatever the case may be, though they aren’t very pretty, they tasted pretty good with my coffee.

There’s just no way to dress these up for photos.

I added a little cinnamon sugar.  It was before the coffee, so I thought they needed a little something.

Then I ran out and had to resort to powdered sugar.  I love how the recipe actually said to use paper bags to drain them.  I gotta tell you, after those plantain hush puppies a few weeks ago, I can kind of get into this frying thing.  It reminds me of back in the day — this time back in my day.   The first summer after my parents divorced and my mom went to work, my sister and I were on our own.  No need to call child services, I was 10ish and she was 15ish.  We would go out to the garden and literally pick our lunch:  an ear of corn, a tomato or cucumber sandwich, or maybe some french fries.  Oh, yeah.  Hey, it was the early ’80s, before Nintendo and we didn’t have cable, so we actually ran around outside and worked off the grease from those there fries.

Anyway, they were yummy on the inside too.

Eat Well and Savor.

 

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About Monica

A court reporter who likes to cook, and travel, and go to the spa, and read, and spoil her dog.

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