We went to El Salvador in August. That’s where The Animal Whisperer is from. A friend took care of the goats, chickens, rabbits, dogs and garden so we could go spend some much needed time with our family and help celebrate our niece’s beautiful wedding, my mother-in-law’s 70th birthday, and our other niece’s fifteenth birthday.
Whenever we go, my sister-in-law, Janell, (she and I are the only two gringos in the group) and I like to cook something for the family that is from us. Kind of a gift from us to them. But…many of the ingredients we use aren’t available in a single store like they are here. Making something “our style” is quite an undertaking. So, after two days of preparation, we made delicious, homemade pizza over the back yard “kitchen” fire.
Do I need to tell you IT WAS AWESOME? Some qualifiers though: First one, the crust was too soft. (It’s not as if she and I have a lot of pizza-over-the-fire cooking experience.) The second one was PERFECT. And the third one, people had to scrape the charcoal off the bottom of the crust. But, all in all, it was AMAZING.
Next time we’re there, we’ll whip you up some.
And, when it was finished, we still had lots of dough.
AHA!!!, I thought, Tomorrow, we’ll use the rest of the dough to make donuts! What a stroke of brilliance! (Self imposed compliment. After the following description, you may question my brilliance.)
We packaged up the dough in a plastic container with a tight fitting lid and put it in the fridge. It’s a fast rising dough at 6500 feet in Colorado Springs, and WAY faster rising at near sea level, the lid would hopefully keep it contained.
Little did I know, the condensation it also kept contained would become the bane of my existence.
We arose the next morning, poured four or five inches of cooking oil into a pot, turned on the gas stove (no fire cooking today), and started forming the donuts. Three by three, we gently placed them in the oil, me giving a lecturette I learned from Little House on the Prairie on how you know when the donuts are done. On about donut fifteen, and just after I had told my kids to back away from the stove MORE, and just after my 1 1/2 year old niece had been ushered OUT of the kitchen, the donut I was pulling out of the oil with a dinner fork (did I mention I wasn’t using long tongs? Yes, a 5 inch long dinner fork) EXPLODED.
It didn’t pop a little. It didn’t spatter a small bit of oil. It didn’t shoot one of those tiny drips that invisibly flies from the pan and lands on your forearm.
The blasted thing EXPLODED!
Any guesses what happened next? Any idea what the lessons learned were?
Stay tuned for Part 2!
– The Goat Cheese Lady