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| The Morning Platter of Doughnuts |
The way I
remember it, I had walked into the ultra-modern hotel room with its low-back
chairs, sharp-edged tables and three large platinum frames over the bed, displaying
canvases with smears and splatters of paint.
Poor references to the artist Pollack.
The early morning sun was streaming in through the sliding glass door
but was not so bright I was prevented from seeing the arrangement of fragmented
doughnuts on the room service cart. Each
doughnut lay sadly impaired and disfigured, a mangled bite ripped from one of
its glazed, powdered or sprinkled and rounded sides. Beside the dozen or so doughnuts was a half
full glass of orange juice, on the television played a re-run of The King of
Queens. In spite of all this evidence,
there didn’t appear to be anyone in the room.
I stood in
the small rectangular doorway, trying to make sense of the surreal scene before
me. I felt as though I were experiencing
one of those moments when once familiar surroundings slide into a thick haze
then turn into a freeze-frame of time. I
was reminded of a favoured book I’d read in college. I think it was “Even Cowgirls Get The
Blues.” One of the characters shuffles
his way into the bathroom in the morning to wash up and upon opening the
medicine cabinet door sees all the shelves slightly askew and the contents upon
them jumbled together at one end. He wonders if what he’s seeing is real or
imagined.
That
portion of the book is a poignant one for me since my little sister swears she
saw the tooth fairy in our family medicine cabinet one morning when she opened
the door to reach for her toothbrush.
Startled, the twinkling figure let out a high pitched squeal, causing my
sister to slam the door shut. My sister
was five at the time. Upon re-opening
the door, she says there was a swish and a – poof! And the fairy was gone. To this day my sister swears her story is
true. You can even discern a note of
sadness in her voice when she re-tells this story. Still disappointed the tooth fairy
disappeared so suddenly. Sis muses; she
shouldn’t have slammed the door shut.
Back to the
predicament of those doughnuts. I
continued standing in the foyer of the room when I heard sounds of retching and
vomiting coming through the closed door of the bathroom.
“Martie? Martie is that you? Are you okay?” I called out.
The sounds
continued.
“Martie! Let me in!” I shouted.
“It’s open
you idiot!” Martie gagged back at me.
I slowly
opened the door and saw my travel buddy, a woman I’ve known and loved for
years, scrunched up on her knees, bent over the toilet, holding her mane of
auburn hair back.
“Oh no,
what can I do to help?” I asked,
ignoring her offending adjective.
“I need a
wet washcloth.” Martie mumbled.
I hurriedly
wet one of the soon to be, not-so-white washcloths and handed it to her.
“Thanks
Deborah, I didn’t mean to snap at you and call you an idiot. I’m just sick. And mad at myself I guess.”
After
dabbing her face and scooting a few inches away from the porcelain bus she had
been driving, my dear friend proceeded to tell me what had happened. Martie had succumbed to ordering the “Morning
Plate of Assorted Doughnuts” from room service, reasoning if she only took one
small bite from each one, she would be able to enjoy the taste without
suffering the consequences that usually follows when she consumes bread.
“Of course I considered ordering something
else from the room service menu for breakfast.”
Martie matter-of-factly explained.
“There was
the Tropical Fruit & Yogurt Parfait, the Red Potato and Rosemary Frittata
and oh gosh, the Tomato Gratin with grated Asiago cheese looked wonderful. But my eyes kept drifting back to that
Morning Plate. Then I thought, Martie,
you love doughnuts. You haven’t had a
doughnut in months. Doughnuts aren’t
exactly bread. They’re lighter, softer, and
airier. So after careful deliberation .
. . “
“Yea, real
careful I see.” I interrupted.
“After
careful deliberation,” Martie continued, “I ordered the Morning Platter. I gotta tell you Deb, when he wheeled in that
cart and I saw those rotund gleams of deliciousness, I was in awe. How can things so small give so much
pleasure?”
“Yup, that’s always the way, isn’t it?” I glibly replied.
Martie was
lost in her doughnut-dream and didn’t appear to hear me.
“I gave the
guy his tip, then plopped down on the edge of my bed, placed the tray on my lap
and proceeded to take a teeny-tiny bite of the doughnut closest to me. The
simple yet popular, raised maple. I slooowly bit into it, savoring how the rich,
mapleness of it melted in my mouth balancing with the chewy, softness of the
dough. I munched ever so slowly, being
very careful when swallowing, while eyeing the platter contemplating which one
would be next. I went for the chocolate
Old Fashioned, your . . . .”
“My
favourite!!” I interrupted. I leaned out the bathroom to see if the
remains of the chocolate Old Fashioned was still intact. It was.
“That one I ate a little less slowly. But I did take a moment to note the
difference between cake doughnuts and raised ones. Very different indeed, yet both chocolate and
maple icing linger on your tongue just enough to entice you into taking another
bite. Have you ever noticed that
Deborah?”
I couldn’t
recall taking that much care when eating a doughnut. Certainly I’ve never done a taste or texture
comparison. Martie went deeper into sharing
her doughnut discoveries.
“I actually smiled with pleasure as the
custard-filled bar oozed its French vanilla cream from the corners of my
mouth. I was alone in my room, so I
licked my lips as far as my tongue could reach then used my fingers to get the
rest of it so none escaped. After that bite, I tried the cinnamon and
sugar doughnut holes. Those were a too
sugary, but overall the doughnuts were everything I remembered. Every bite was blissful satisfaction. I was filled with glee as I took one teeny-tiny
bite of each nectarean celestial sphere.”
“I saw the doughnuts out there
Martie. Those weren’t exactly teeny
bites.”
“Well anyway, I figured one little morsel of each would satisfy my craving and wouldn’t be too much for me to digest. Obviously I was wrong.” Martie spoke with the same despair my little sister has when she re-tells the tooth fairy story.
My friend,
who has willingly tasted her way through Paris, Costa Rica, the Bahamas, New
Orleans and Miami Beach Florida with me, has a sweet tooth that could rival
even “Elf.” You know that Christmas movie and the scene where he pours syrup all over his
spaghetti?
This was
never more evident than when Martie had just come home from the hospital
following her weight loss surgery. I had
been to the hospital the day of and the day after, as always, my upbeat and
energetic friend was in the best of spirits.
In spite of her pain and inability to keep down even water. But on the about the third or fourth day of
recovery at home when I called to ask
how she felt, Martie chirpped;
“Great! Well I’m a little uncomfortable, but Deb, I
have a serious craving for your home-made chocolate pudding.”
“I thought
you could only have clear liquids for the next few days following your
surgery.”
“Well
yes.” Martie slowly replied, as though
she really didn’t want to admit it.
“Martie, my
chocolate pudding is anything but clear.”
“I know
that Deborah,” Martie retorted in a tone that only the youngest child in the
family can sustain well into adulthood, “but I really want some.”
It was
apparent, the soothing warmth promised by a serving of my home-made chocolate
pudding was just the consolation Martie felt she needed. When she told me she couldn’t get the thought
of that earthy-dark, velvety-rich, inviting aroma out of her head, I knew I had
to do what any good friend would do.
According to Martie, my fudge-like pudding invoked in her a comforting
solace from the sterile offerings of broth she had been enduring the last few
days. Nothing on her current menu could
offer the same snuggley, culinary embrace of that slow-cooked mixture of
Scharffenberger chocolate, instant espresso, chili powder and sweet milk. I’ve been told this recipe is a luxuriant
meld that coats the tongue creating almost a veneer of pleasurable taste over
your teeth and gums. Martie even loves
eating the skin that forms on top of the pudding when I forget to cover it with
plastic wrap. She claims it serves as
edible insurance to the goodness that lies beneath. It’s comments like that, I can’t resist.
So of
course, what could I do but prepare for her, something so simple, yet serves as
a testament of my commitment to our friendship?
I prepared the pudding and later that evening made the drive over to her
house. Watching a good movie, Martie and
I sat together spooning our definition of comfort into our receptive mouths. It was glorious.
INGREDIENTS
1 14-oz can low-fat sweetened condensed milk
1 cup half
and half
½ cup fine granulated
sugar
4 ounces
Scharffenberger unsweetened baking chocolate, broken into small pieces
2
tablespoons Dutch cocoa powder
1 teaspoon
instant espresso powder
1/8 teaspoon
chili powder
2
tablespoons cornstarch
2 large eggs
plus 1 additional egg yolk
1 tablespoon
vanilla extract
Garnish,
if desired; 1 cup heavy cream whipped with 4 tablespoons powdered sugar
1)
In small mixing bowl whisk together ½ the can
of condensed milk, cornstarch, whole eggs and egg yolk heavy – set aside.
2)
In medium saucepot
combine remaining can of condensed milk with all the half and half, sugar and
cocoa powder whisking over medium heat.
Continue whisking until mixture begins to simmer. Do not allow to boil.
3)
Remove from heat
and whisk in chocolate pieces, until melted and blended
4)
Return saucepot
to stove and temper egg mixture with one ladle of warm chocolate mixture then add
a second ladle then slowly pour remaining cornstarch mixture into warm chocolate
mixture whisking constantly until well blended and mixture begins to
thicken. About 5 – 7 minutes
5)
Remove from heat
and stir in vanilla extract, espresso powder and chili powder. Ladle into individual ramekins and serve warm
or chilled, if preferred.
Garnish
with a dollop of freshly prepared whipped cream
Makes
6 4-ounce servings
That looks delicious!
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