Really Fat Tuesday

Here's a quick quiz for you. Finish the following phrase: You don't have to be Polish to polish off a ____.

If you answered paczki then, yes, you too might be from the Metro Detroit area. You might also have a glimpse into why Michigan is typically ranked among the nation's fattest states. And if you've never had one of those doughy calorie bombs, well, I feel sorry for you.

To start with the correct pronunciation is "POONCH-key." If that doesn't clue you in, they're a Polish thing. Which is a big deal in Detroit thanks to Hammtramck. Which became a huge center for Polish immigrants some time around the 1900s thanks to, what else, the auto industry. And a paczki is a traditional Polish pastry using up all the baking ingredients around the house that would be forbidden during Lent. They're eaten the day before Lent begins in a last gasp of indulgence before the 40 day long sacrifice that Catholic holiday involves. In New Orleans, they have Mardi Gras. But in the Motor City we have Paczki Day (Seriously, they have parades and everything in Hammtramck. If you follow that wiki link I gave earlier, they even make mention of it, that's how identified it is with the area.). A day given over to celebrating fried, sweetened dough stuffed with a sweet filling and then glazed or powdered.

Basically, it's a jelly doughnut. In fact, a similar version from German cuisine is known as the Berliner (You, know from the famous JFK gaffe where he declares himself to be a jelly doughnut? The one German teachers have been eating out on for years now.). And inferior versions of the pastry are, indeed, nothing more than ordinary doughnuts. It's realyl the "once a year" thing that makes them special.

But, oh, a good paczki? It's magical. Just a sweet, buttery taste given just the right hint of smokiness from frying in the oil. Wrapped in a crisp sugary glaze (Some folks like the powdered but I've always been a glaze fan myself.). The best ones I've ever had have been the ones my grandmother made. We're talking completely homemade from he dough to mixing up the various fillings from her preserves. Paczkis come in all different flavors, after all. Prune is the traditional one that's a bit like fruitcake - you never meet anyone who admits actually liking it but, yet, it still gets made. Fruit fillings like Lemon, Blueberry, Raspberry, Strawberry, Cherry, and more are also common. Custard's a stand-by. I've even seen them just filled with straight whipped cream. But my favorite is the bavarian cream. Which is like moving beyond custard into new realms of flavor and texture. My grandmother whips up an awesome batch. And I'll never forget being in her kitchen and smelling the hot oil the paczki floated on. She'd flip them over every so often with a big wooden spoon, ensuring they browned evenly to a dark, rich color of maple syrup. The scent of sugar and peanuts and whatever mystical properties fried food take on just flooding her small house - the house where my mother and the rest of her family grew up in. It was a recipe she'd learned from one of her neighbors (The street they lived on was like something out of Leave it to Beaver, apparently, and the child wrangling housewifes traded their recipes back and forth. My grandmother learned how to make paczki's from her Polish neighbor, fresh pasta from the Italian on the other side, and matzo ball soup from the Jewish lady across the road among others. In return, she taught them how to make her traditional French-Candian pastries like the wonderful eclairs she still brings to ever holiday meal. Oh, and corned beef, too, I'm sure. But that came from the grandfather I never met.). And anyone in the house would be drafted into the assembly line of filling them.

So, you know, not getting those any time soon. But the best ones I've ever bought were from the Sweetheart Bakery right on Kelly Road near my grandmother's house. Even after she'd left that house (And it had been ruined by the tenant she leased it to. Long story and not exactly an appetizing one.) whenever she'd come over to babysit or even just to visit, we'd make a pilgrimage and grab some of their fine baked goods. The best ones were, of course, right before Ash Wednesday when grandmama would come into town to take mass at her old parish and show up at our house with a box of paczki.

Where I'm living now, they're not quite as big a deal. Wouldn't even know it's Paczki Day at all. In fact, I haven't even bothered looking for them. Turns out I didn't have to as I received a care package from one relative or another this afternoon. Inside? A half dozen paczki. They're sitting on the counter right this moment and tempting me. You see, as part of the Big Scary, I'm trying to watch my weight. And, well, a paczki is something like 2000 calories alone. I have to exercise just thinking about it (Which hasn't been easy with the crappy weather lately.). Fortunately, these look supermarket bought so there's no expertly crafted Bavarian creams to haunt my dreams. There are, however, some custards.

Lovely, tasty custards.

And they're glazed.