My father made us donuts

RECIPE:

Brown paper bags

1-2 cups of plain powdered sugar

1 cup of white sugar

1 teaspoon Cinnamon

Plain refrigerated biscuits in a can

Vegetable oil

*Required

A hint of magic

Everyone from my friend’s group as a child recalls the donuts my dad would make all of us after a sleepover. It’s as though the night before was spent waiting with anticipation for the next morning, amid all the excitement and giggles and movies, this was what my friends remembered the most.

He would make it a habit to get everyone together to watch him fry these grocery store biscuits up in a small pot, and give them brown paper bags to shake the hot fried dough in. One would have powdered sugar, the other cinnamon sugar (mix white sugar with cinnamon).

He would make holes in the dough and fry donut holes and whole donuts, letting us also make the holes with bottle caps.

Once we got to the shaking stage it was all good. Letting loose and then popping the still hot donut out of the bag to take a bite out of! Just perfect.

The perfect breakfast that ended our sleepover with the best kind of note. We’d have milk with our breakfast, and usually there was a few leftover donut holes we could nibble on after the oil on the stove was cooled.

I don’t think this was about culture for my dad, but it does sound, “American,” enough for me. For my dad, I believe he just wanted to do something nice for me and my friends. It was about cultivating a sense of community, connection and meaningful memories with the direct link of food.

Food and family connections are such a powerful thing that is similar to hearing a song on the radio and being instantly reminded to a certain moment in your life. I can’t shake (pun intended!) that nostalgic feeling that looking at solid brown paper bags really gives me. It makes me feel like home, like I’m back in my old childhood kitchen and my dad is making magic at the stove for my friends and me.

It’s something intrinsically special to me because I know that when my dad ever made us food, it was made with the purpose of showing his love.

My dad grew up in a large family of many sisters and one brother, and told me the way he learned how to cook: his mom. Being in a family that large, it was usually the survival of the fittest when it came to eating and getting your fill. He realized if he was in the kitchen helping his mother out, he’d usually get the first helping. Of course, he would think it’s terribly clever to do that, but he unintentionally learned the basics and tricks to the trade that made him the good cook he is today.

I remember whenever he’d make fried potatoes, fried chicken or fish, it was always a treat. More of a treat than dessert was, in my opinion.

I feel that this traditional way of sharing our experiences through food is such a beautiful thing. Another dish he taught us was homemade beef stroganoff. Everything was from scratch and I understood that when you took the time to learn how to create something, you should always take your time to do it right.

As for asking for exact measurements, details and cooking times, my dad is not the best source. He’s a wing it sort of cook. Eyeing ingredients, testing oil by putting drops of water in it to see if it sizzles, etc. There is nothing scientific or precise about my dad’s cooking. However, I realized that not everything needs a perfect recipe.

Basically, he fills the metal pot halfway with oil, lets it heat up on medium high, checks it out with droplets of water, then drops in the dough. Frying one side for a few minutes, then flipping it over, once it’s golden brown, placing it on a paper plate with napkins, it’s done.

I may or may not have gotten everything down to a perfect spot-on intricacy, but this is my favorite food memories that I have from my childhood. So sue me if it’s not perfect. Childhood is not supposed to be perfect, I say. It’s messy, fun, crazy and full of surprises, complicated parts and hard parts, but overall, I remember the feeling of being a part of something special with those moments in the kitchen with my dad and friends.

My dad has been there for me all my life, through my worst times and best. He always made sure I was fed well and loved well, too. All of those little things he did for me were the most precious and important times for me. All of those fishing trips, times at the cinema (watching Jackass!) and the reason I always felt so safe and secure and safe being myself. They all started from a brown paper bag being shaken up.

Food for me in my family is more than a few delicious bites of hot, fried dough covered in sugar. I believe that this is how we said our love without words. Cooking for someone is an act of love.

I can’t imagine my life without these messages of gratitude, selflessness and friendship. I personally feel like the best way to express gratitude for your loved ones is by making something, anything (food, art, cards, presents) with a homemade heart and a caring hand.

Don’t get too caught up with precise instructions as this is supposed to be a fun activity you can do with your kids, parents, friends and loved ones. It’s good to get an idea of what to do, but like any good idea, let yourself feel something that sparks your inner child, your passion, your love.

I am eternally grateful and blessed to have such a supportive and loving father. He crafted magic, joy, laughter, full bellies and a ton of wisdom and guidance—-

All shaken up in a magical brown paper bag.