Poppin' Fresh

A few weeks ago I called my friend Emily. I'd been thinking about my Aunt Cissy's Poppin' Fresh donuts, and I was determined to give them a try. She gave me the support of a good friend and said when I wanted to fry she would be available as a taste tester. When the night arrived, I was too excited for my own good and cooked a deliciously heavy meal for us before I even fried the donuts. We had to take a little "breather" before I got up and poured the oil.

We pulled out the pan and poured in the oil. Now, I like the kitchen, and until now, I had yet to actually fry something. I don't own a Fry Daddy. (And I call myself Southern?!) I've never made french fries, nor have I fried shrimp or catfish - all things I grew up with. I still haven't even managed to talk myself into frying pork chops - of course that might just be my piece de resistance. If I can give myself a few dozen times to get it wrong, I might just make Cranmommie proud one day.

So I let the vegetable oil flow into the pan. Emily and I are laughing the entire time. (Am I really doing this?)

When I was a little girl, I would go play with Aunt Cissy and Uncle Clarence. Aunt Cissy let me play in the kitchen with her. We would fry poppin' fresh donuts. Every Valentine's Day we made a heart-shaped strawberry cake for my class. Aunt Cissy would make her chicken salad and pack sandwiches. We would drive out on the Natchez Trace and find a little spot with picnic tables. She would cuff her pants up, and we would wade in the creek waters while Uncle Clarence watched. Aunt Cissy also made meat pies and crawfish pies! (Wowser) These are things I must absorb very soon. They are too precious, too delicious and much too deep and happy a memory to be lost. These are recipes to be learned. And soon.

But for now we are pouring vegetable oil in the pan. And Emily and I are definitely laughing. I keep hovering my hand over the oil. Blondie here can't decide when the oil is hot enough. I've pulled out my butter-me-not canned biscuits and formed five little donuts. I passed Emily the condensed milk, and she prepared our icing bath.

We were laughing again in no time. I put the first donut in a little prematurely. We are talking about Rachel Ray and the oil rippling and how were we supposed to know it was ready? Slowly but surely it was time to flip the first donut. It was a rotten crispy (oily, fried) mess. We threw it on the paper towel and waited a couple of minutes. Shortly, there were tiny bubbles forming on the bottom of the pan. It was looking prime. I started feeling gutsy and put two little donuts in this time.

And the oil began to sing...

Our donuts fried up just like I remembered. While I'm flipping, Emily is picking at the first sad little donut. I'm insisting she use the icing. She's saying she likes it just fine without. I'm carrying on about doing it Aunt Cissy's way.

After my four little donuts were fried up just right, we let them roll around in the icing bath and took them to the Man Cave. Emily was ahead of me - she took out the first one. From her reactions, they weren't too bad. I'm still staring at the donuts. Can I remember how they tasted? Did I do it right? How disappointed am I going to be emotionally when this doesn't taste right? Why do I care this much?

First bite. Here goes nothing. And it is absolute magic. I can't even finish the donut. I put it back down on the plate. It is absolutely, positively a taste from childhood. I told Emily it didn't matter if they were good or bad - they tasted exactly like I wanted them to, exactly like I remembered them.

My mom called in the midst of the revelry. She encouraged me to call Aunt Cissy which I did. It has been a long time since I was a little girl sitting on the counter watching her fry donuts. She would fry the donuts, and I would sneak spoonfuls of powered coffee creamer. (Yes, I was strange - still am.) And when I called Aunt Cissy, I felt like a little girl again. It was such a treat. I even got a little giddy and excited when I talked to her. She laughed and more than once told me, "You are a funny girl."

We are planning on making heart-shaped strawberry cakes at Christmas. It is terribly out of season, but it is well worth the memory. Aunt Cissy doesn't know it yet, but she is going to have to show me her meat and crawfish pies too.

My poppin' fresh experience was much more than a success. I could not have imagined that they would literally take me back to a counter on Hurricane Road in Natchez. I was instantly transported back in time when we rode on Uncle Clarence's back anywhere we went, a time when we would put a blanket in the wheelbarrow and take a "ride". We would even climb down to the bayou in their backyard and look for arrowheads.

I'm typing this now and fighting tears. I didn't realize the donuts - or writing this entry - would bring back so many memories. And they are very good memories. I am thinking now that as I walk through the Carolina woods and look at the trees and listen to the birds I am reliving one of the pleasures I loved when I was little and forgot when I grew up.

It's been 10 years this year - the night of my birthday - that Uncle Clarence passed away. He always had Juicy Fruit gum in his desk drawer and a terrific smile on his face. He packed us around on his back like we were nothing more than hummingbirds. He and Aunt Cissy exposed us to the woods and the great outdoors. They asked us to love nature like they did.

Daddy laughed the first time I told him I was going to take a hike in the Carolina mountains. I guess Aunt Cissy and Uncle Clarence's love of the outdoors was not completely lost on this little girl.