Most of my close friends know all too well that I am a dyed-in-the-[sheep’s]-wool Anglophile. There isn’t much about England I don’t adore; from its quirky sense of humour (yes, I will spell it with a “u” thankyouverymuch) to its antiquated sense of self-worth. I love the history, the people, and the rain. A man with a British accent could have me at Ay-up. Although I don’t smoke, I am charmed that a cigarette is a fag, that bloody seems more dignified than fuck, and a numerical zero is zed. I used to drive British cars and still worship the dark lord, Lucas. I will drink a Guinness any day of the week over any American-made brew and actually crave toad-in-the-hole.
So it should come as no surprise that the Mother Country of my Bosom has a National Doughnut Week. Not just a DAY, mind you! They devote a whole bloody week to my beloved culinary obsession. It is all done to support The Children’s Trust, a charity devoted to helping children with multiple disabilities. From May 8th through May 15th, bakers all over the British isles are donating proceeds from their doughnut sales for the charity. So, in your best Queen’s English, sing Hail Brittania at the top of your lungs and buy a doughnut! You’ll be brilliant!
I have to confess I have never watched The Simpsons. Well, my friend Chi-Chi Maldonado once insisted I watch an episode about that showcased Patrick Stewart as a Stonecutter (read: Mason) because it was a parody on Secret Societies, of which we were members. Come to think of it, Chi-Chi also directed me to an episode where some character who never speaks breaks her silence to explain the philosophy of Ayn Rand. Lots and lots of friends have assured me that I would appreciate the layered, intellectual humor in it but I think it was the legions of adolescent boys who took on guttural grunt of “Doh!” which really started to get to me.
So I’ve mostly ignored The Simpsons, despite its longevity and staying power on television. I have ignored it until now. Maybe it is time for me to backtrack to the beginning of the series and start watching every episode from the beginning. Because this little ditty I am offering today is about Homer’s doughnut addiction and how that addiction confines him to hell.
Some of the interesting points that exist within these two-and-a-half minutes, is the fact that the Devil appears very similar in shape and materialization to that demon which appears in Disney’s Night on Bald Mountain. In Beezlebub’s human form, he still maintains the cloven hooves of a satyr. Striking for me was the fiery hole that opens in the kitchen, after Homer has consumed the final crumb of the “forbidden donut.” As a child, my nightmares of hell was exactly that type of gaping, fiery hole with a centrifugal force that would draw me in. The mere fact that Homer’s torments are subjected by the Ironic Punishment Division is barely ironic but I especially like the final comment that James Coco went mad after fifteen minutes of Homer’s treatment.
If you don’t know, James Coco was a character known in the 1970s. He was rotund in stature and one of my favorite roles that he played was in the spoof, Murder By Death. He parodied the Belgian sleuth Hercule Poirot, penned by Agatha Christie. In the movie, James Coco’s character throws a volley of subtle food jokes. And from his IMDB biography, “In his last years, Coco received attention for his culinary talents and best-selling cookbooks. The James Coco Diet, an educational book which included chapters on menu planning and behavior modification as well as choice recipes), was just one that he promoted on the talk show circuit. It is probably not a coincidence that he often played characters with extreme food issues. Suffering from obesity (5’10”, 250 lbs.) for most his adult life, the talented actor died unexpectedly of a heart attack in New York City in 1987 at the age of 56, and was buried in St. Gertrude’s Roman Catholic Cemetery in Colonia, New Jersey.”
It is somewhat of an odd obsession, being the Fried Dough Ho, to find humorous doughnut bits now being forwarded to me from friends and readers. And it is my sincerest plan to ultimately share each and every one over time. I’ll admit to having been a Muppet Show fan in my youth. I liked the crazy old guys in the balcony, Statler and Waldorf. I had a Rowlf The Dog hand-puppet. And everybody liked Kermit.
And then there is Swedish Chef. For those who don’t know, he was designed by the Muppet factory as a parody of televisions chefs (long before there were celebrity chefs). Much of the humor lies in the fact that his vision is almost completely obscured by his bushy eyebrows and toque blanche. Unlike most other Muppets, you can actually see human hands protruding from the character’s costume. How else to handle actual cooking implements?
The other hilarious part for me is Chef’s song, which he sings at the beginning of each episode. Mostly incomprehensible, Swedish-sounding gibberish, the song is never quite the same but always finishes out with the barks of “Börk, börk, börk!” before the Chef flings the utensils aside and starting in on his culinary endeavor. I hope you enjoy today’s offering!
I have been a crafts person for the bulk of my life. As a kid, I used to macrame licorice whips together, using gumdrops as beads, to make bracelets. I have worked in clay and textiles and metal (my somewhat chosen profession). Although now, in the 21st Century, it is no longer called a “crafts culture” but DIY, or Do It Yourself. And among the DIY culture, there are few doughnut-obsessed artists like myself. The photo above is by a knitter named Kat. I like the variable colors and the “jelly” that comes out of the filled doughnut. And she is provides the knitting instructions on how to knit some yourself.
I don’t watch a lot of regular television. I admit that I tend to just watch classic movies over and over, but some close friends recommended 30 Rock to me. I know that creator Tina Fey puts a lot of her own personal interests into the nuances of the show (like continual references to Star Wars) so it made sense that her character’s love of food would include doughnuts.
Apparently they are from a Brooklyn bakery known as Peter Pan and she describes them as “powdered sugar on the outside, white cream-filled donut (not to be confused with Bavarian cream).” It seems the cream filling is “very, very white” and “if made correctly, makes you blind.” Sounds like I need to hit up a special spot in Brooklyn when next I visit New York!
Most of my close friends know all too well that I am a dyed-in-the-[sheep’s]-wool Anglophile. There isn’t much about England I don’t adore; from its quirky sense of humour (yes, I will spell it with a “u” thankyouverymuch) to its antiquated sense of self-worth. I love the history, the people, and the rain. A man with a British accent could have me at Ay-up. Although I don’t smoke, I am charmed that a cigarette is a fag, that bloody seems more dignified than fuck, and a numerical zero is zed. I used to drive British cars and still worship the dark lord, Lucas. I will drink a Guinness any day of the week over any American-made brew and actually crave toad-in-the-hole.
