On the way to a tractor show at Hamilton last Saturday, we stopped by a Mennonite store north of Richmond to buy a pint of sorghum. Now, sorghum is one of those things we probably shouldn't have in the house, but we only use it when we have home-made biscuits, which is about once a week these days. Too often, I know.
When we walked in the door at Der Brot Pann Bakery, right ahead of us not five feet from the door was a table loaded with warm, freshly-made donuts.
I hadn't wanted a donut for a long time. I used to crave them. It's the same with candy bars: Almost every time I went through the checkout at Walmart, I'd casually grab two candy bars... one for me, one for Cliff. But that was twenty-five years ago, and even when I backslide on my eating habits, donuts and candy bars don't faze me. Or at least, they didn't.
Until we entered the Mennonite store, that is. Those donuts spoke to me in a quite obscene way. However, we didn't succumb, but got in the car and went on to our tractor show, confessing to one another that those donuts really tested our will power.
Tuesday I made Cajun-fried okra. I fry okra in a cast iron skillet and turn each little slice of okra with a fork so both sides get brown and crispy. Cliff looked over my shoulder and said, "Is that how you fry those? Looks like a lot of work."
"Well, ideally you'd fry them in a deep-fryer," I said. "But I got rid of mine years ago because I never used it, and it was taking up space."
We ate our dinner, but the die was cast, the seed was been planted. Amazon was in the computer room calling my name, so as soon as the dishes were washed, I looked up a Fry-Daddy. Wow, they're not much higher-priced than they were thirty years ago!
The Fry-Daddy came today. Of course I had to try it out. We'd already had dinner, so I decided to make dessert: Donuts!
One of the few foods over which I had gained control now owns me, all due to a stop at a Mennonite store.
Evil folks, those Mennonites.