Sarakosti Secrets: How Greek “Peasant Food” Turned Beans into the Meat of the Poor

Fasolada, Fakes, and the Quiet Power of Fasting in the Orthodox World

In a world where “healthy eating” often means pricey superfoods and complicated diets, there is something deeply refreshing about a kitchen that runs on beans, onions, olive oil, and time.

That kitchen exists—and has existed for centuries—in the Greek Orthodox world during Sarakosti, or Great Lent. For about forty days leading up to Orthodox Easter, the Greek table changes. Meat disappears. Dairy and eggs vanish. In stricter homes, even olive oil and wine are put aside on many weekdays. Yet somehow, no one goes hungry.

Instead, simple ingredients step forward and take center stage—especially legumes.During this season, beans, lentils, and chickpeas become so important that they’re lovingly called the “meat of the poor.” Not because anyone feels deprived, but because these humble foods quietly take over what meat usually does: they satisfy, they nourish, and they bring people together around the table.

For women who are juggling family, work, wellness, and a desire to eat more intentionally, there’s something powerful here. Sarakosti isn’t just a religious practice; it’s a built-in reset that leans on pantry staples, slow cooking, and a different definition of “enough.”

In this post, we’re going to:

  • Explore what Sarakosti is and why it matters
  • Talk about why legumes became the “meat of the poor”
  • Cook two classic Greek Lenten recipes:
  1. Fasolada – the national bean soup of Greece
  2. Fakes – a simple, deeply comforting lentil soup
  • Reflect on what this old tradition can teach us about modern, mindful eating

If you love food with a story, you’re in exactly the right place.

What Is Sarakosti? The Forty Days of Less

In the Greek Orthodox calendar, Sarakosti literally means “the forty days,” referring to the fasting period before Easter (Pascha). It begins on Clean Monday—a day when families often head outdoors, fly kites, and eat a fully Lenten meal—and continues all the way to Holy Week.The traditional guidelines are surprisingly specific. On most days of Great Lent:

No meat

No dairy

No eggs

No fish with a backbone

In stricter practice, no olive oil or wine on many weekdays

There are a few feast-like exceptions when fish or oil and wine are allowed. But the heart of Sarakosti is this: you deliberately eat more simply than you could.To a modern Western eye, this might look like extreme minimalism. To earlier generations, especially in rural Greece, it looked a lot like everyday life. Meat was expensive and saved for feast days. The average home already relied heavily on:

Legumes (beans, lentils, chickpeas, fava)

Grains (wheat, barley, rice)

Seasonal vegetables

Olives and olive oil

Fruits and nuts

Sarakosti, in that sense, is not about inventing a new diet. It’s about intentionally leaning into the foods that historically kept people going when money was tight, winters were hard, and faith was the thing that stitched the days together.

For many women today—whether they’re fasting or just looking for a plant-based reset—this season is a chance to rediscover those “old” foods through a modern lens. It’s simple cooking that still feels rich, nourishing, and deeply grounding.

Beans as the “Meat of the Poor”

Let’s talk about that phrase: “the meat of the poor.”

It sounds a little harsh, almost like a consolation prize. But in practice, it isn’t. It’s a sign of respect for how powerful legumes really are.

For centuries, meat was rare and celebratory. A lamb roasted on a spit for Easter. A chicken stewed for a wedding. These were the exceptions, not the rule.

Beans, on the other hand, were always there.

They were cheap, so even poorer households could afford them.

They were shelf-stable, stored dry in sacks, ready to use when fresh food was scarce.

They were nutrient-dense, offering protein, fiber, minerals, and energy.

They were incredibly versatile: soups, stews, purees, baked dishes, salads.

During famine, war, or occupation, a pot of beans could mean survival. During fasting seasons like Sarakosti, it meant you could observe your faith without putting your body in danger.

And in the Greek kitchen, beans are never boring. They simmer with onions and bay leaves. They’re enriched with olive oil. They’re brightened with tomatoes, herbs, or a splash of vinegar. They’re paired with pickled vegetables, olives, raw onions, and good bread.

When you see them this way, legumes stop being the “cheap protein” you buy when you’re broke and start becoming an intentional choice:

For your health

For your budget

For your values

Which brings us to the star of the Lenten table: Fasolada.

Fasolada: The National Dish of Greece

If you ask Greeks to name a “national dish,” many will skip over the tourist favorites like moussaka and souvlaki and go straight to something much humbler: Fasolada.

Fasolada is a white bean soup that manages to be simple, hearty, and deeply satisfying. It’s built from pantry ingredients: dried beans, onion, carrot, celery, tomato, olive oil, and a couple of herbs. Yet somehow, the result is comfort in a bowl.

Historically, Fasolada has done a lot of heavy lifting:

It sustained families through harsh winters.

It helped people survive war and occupation when meat and dairy were luxuries.It became a staple of Lenten cooking, appearing regularly during Sarakosti.

It’s also wonderfully flexible. You can make it thicker or brothy, with or without tomato, with more vegetables or fewer. It’s the kind of recipe that invites you to use what you already have.

Fasolada (Greek White Bean Soup)

Serves 4–6

Ingredients:

1 lb (about 450 g) dried white beans (cannellini or Great Northern)

1 large onion, finely chopped

2–3 carrots, sliced into coins

2–3 celery stalks, chopped (or 1 small celery root, diced)

2–3 cloves garlic, minced

1 can (14–15 oz / 400 g) crushed or diced tomatoes (or a couple of grated ripe tomatoes)

1–2 bay leaves

1 teaspoon dried oregano or thyme

About 1/3 cup olive oil (you can use less, or add at the end for flavor)

Salt and freshly ground black pepper

Lemon wedges and chopped fresh parsley for serving

Step 1 – Soak the Beans

Place the dried beans in a large bowl, cover with plenty of cold water, and soak overnight. This helps them cook more evenly and makes them easier to digest.

Step 2 – The Pre-Boil (Optional, but Helpful)

The next day, drain the beans and place them in a pot with fresh water. Bring to a boil and simmer for about 10–15 minutes. Drain again. This “first boil” is an old trick to make the soup feel lighter.

Step 3 – Build the Soup

Return the beans to the pot and cover with fresh water by about 1–2 inches (2.5–5 cm). Add the onion, carrots, celery, bay leaves, and dried herbs. Bring to a boil, then reduce to a gentle simmer.

Let this cook, uncovered or partially covered, until the beans are nearly tender—usually 30–40 minutes, but it can vary depending on your beans.

Step 4 – Add Tomatoes & Olive Oil

When the beans are just about tender, stir in the crushed tomatoes and season with salt and pepper.

Now comes the soul of the dish: the olive oil. You can add it earlier for flavor or wait until the beans are soft and then stir it in during the last 10–15 minutes of cooking. The oil gives the soup richness and helps create that silky, almost creamy body without any dairy.

Continue simmering until the beans are very tender and the broth has thickened slightly. If it gets too thick, add a little water. If it’s too thin, let it simmer a bit longer with the lid off.

Step 5 – Serve with the “Extras”

Ladle Fasolada into bowls, top with chopped parsley, and serve with lemon wedges for squeezing over the top.

Traditionally, this is where the table fills out:

Crusty bread, torn or sliced

Olives

Pickled vegetables or raw sliced onions

On strictly Lenten days, this is a full, satisfying meal all on its own. On less strict days, some families might serve it alongside salted or smoked fish.

However you pair it, one bowl is enough to convince you that “peasant food” can feel incredibly luxurious.

Fakes: The Weeknight Lentil Warrior

If Fasolada is the national comfort soup, then Fakes (pronounced “Fah-kess”) is the everyday workhorse.

This is the lentil soup that shows up in Greek homes all year long, not just during Sarakosti. It’s fast, filling, and almost ridiculously inexpensive. Unlike beans, lentils cook quickly and don’t need soaking, which makes this a perfect weeknight meal.

At its simplest, Fakes is just:

Brown lentils

Onion

Garlic

Bay leaf

Tomato (optional)

Olive oil

And the famous finishing touch: a splash of vinegar

That last element is key. The vinegar cuts through the earthiness of the lentils and brightens the whole bowl. It’s one of those small, signature details that makes the dish taste distinctly Greek.

Fakes (Greek Lentil Soup)

Serves 4–6

Ingredients:

1 1/2 cups brown lentils, rinsed

1 large onion, chopped

3–4 cloves garlic, minced

1–2 tablespoons olive oil (plus more for drizzling)1–2 bay leaves

2 tablespoons tomato paste or 1 cup crushed tomatoes (optional but lovely)

6–7 cups water or vegetable broth

Salt and freshly ground pepper

Red wine vinegar, to serve

Step 1 – Sauté the Base

In a large pot, heat the olive oil over medium heat. Add the chopped onion and cook until soft and translucent. Add the minced garlic and cook another minute, just until fragrant.

Step 2 – Add Lentils & Liquid

Stir in the rinsed lentils and bay leaves. Add the water or broth, plus the tomato paste or crushed tomatoes if using.Bring everything to a boil, then reduce the heat and let it simmer gently.

Step 3 – Simmer to Tender

Cook for about 30–40 minutes, or until the lentils are tender and the soup has thickened slightly. Stir occasionally and add a little more water if needed.Season with salt and pepper toward the end of cooking, when the flavors have developed.

Step 4 – The Vinegar Trick

Here’s where Fakes becomes Fakes. When you serve the soup, offer a small bottle of red wine vinegar at the table.Each person should drizzle a little into their bowl and stir it in. Start small—a teaspoon or so—and adjust to taste. The vinegar brightens the flavor and brings the whole dish to life.

Step 5 – Serve Simply

Serve your lentil soup with:

A drizzle of olive oil on top crusty bread

Maybe some olives or sliced raw onion

If you’re following a Lenten pattern, this is everything you need in a bowl: protein, fiber, comfort, and warmth.

What Sarakosti Can Teach Our Modern Kitchens

You might not be heading into a forty-day religious fast. You might not be ready to give up your morning latte or your Sunday steak. That’s okay.

Sarakosti still has so much to offer if you zoom out and look at the bigger picture.

Here are a few quiet lessons from this tradition that can fit into almost any lifestyle:

1. Simpler Doesn’t Mean Less SatisfyingBoth Fasolada and Fakes are made from inexpensive pantry staples, yet they taste rich, layered, and complete. The “secret” isn’t expensive ingredients; it’s time, patience, and a few smart techniques—like pre-boiling beans, finishing with olive oil, or adding vinegar at the end.

2. Build Your Meals Around Plants, Not Meat

During Sarakosti, meat steps back and plants step forward. Legumes and vegetables become the main event, not a side. You don’t have to be vegan to try a version of this a couple of days a week.

Choose:

“Bean Day” once a week

“Lentil Night” instead of takeout

A Lenten-style meal when you feel like your body needs a reset

3. Let Tradition Guide Your “Reset”

Instead of following the newest detox or cleanse, you can look back at how entire cultures structured seasonal resets. Sarakosti does this naturally: it builds in a period of lighter eating that’s still nourishing, socially shared, and emotionally grounded.

You can borrow that idea without copying it exactly. Maybe you choose:

One week each season for simpler, plant-based meals

A tradition of soup nights when the weather turns cold

A personal “fast” from ultra-processed foods for a stretch of time

4. Food as a Bridge to History

Cooking these recipes is a way to step into someone else’s story, even if just for an evening. Fasolada and Fakes connect you to generations of women who stirred pots of beans for their families during lean years, fasting seasons, and everyday life.

You may be stirring yours in a modern American kitchen with an electric stove and a podcast playing in the background—but the chain of care is the same.

Bringing It to Your Table

If you’re ready to dip your toe into this world, here’s a simple way to start:

Pick one of the two recipes—Fasolada or Fakes.

Make it on a Sunday afternoon or a quiet weeknight.

Serve it the way it’s meant to be eaten: with good bread, a drizzle of olive oil, and something crunchy or briny on the side.

Then check in with yourself:

How do you feel after this kind of meal?

Did you miss meat as much as you expected?

Could this fit into your regular rotation once or twice a month?

You might find that a bowl of humble beans doesn’t feel “poor” at all. It feels intentional. It feels grounding. It feels like care.

And that, more than anything, is the secret of Sarakosti: learning to be satisfied with less, and realizing that less can still be very, very satisfying.

“Presidential Appetites: John & Abigail Adams at the New England Table”

John and Abigail Adams helped build a nation with their minds, their letters, and—quietly but powerfully—their kitchen. Together, the second president and the first First Lady to live in the White House embodied a “Presidential Appetite” rooted not in luxury, but in New England simplicity: bubbling apples under a dowdied crust, and hearty boiled dinners that could feed a household and a revolution.

The Adamses: Brains, Backbone, and a New Republic

John Adams was born in 1735 in Braintree (now Quincy), Massachusetts, the son of a farmer who became a lawyer, revolutionary, and ultimately the second president of the United States. He honed his reputation by defending British soldiers after the Boston Massacre—an unpopular act that showed his deep belief in the rule of law even as he became one of Britain’s fiercest critics. In the Continental Congress, Adams emerged as a driving force behind independence, pushing the colonies toward the fateful vote that would sever ties with the Crown and working closely with Thomas Jefferson on the Declaration of Independence.

After independence, John shifted from fiery orator to tireless diplomat, helping negotiate the Treaty of Paris and serving as America’s first minister to Great Britain. He wrote the Massachusetts Constitution, an influential model for the federal Constitution, especially in its emphasis on checks and balances and separated powers. As the nation’s first vice president under George Washington and then as president from 1797 to 1801, Adams steered the fragile republic through international tensions with France, expanding the navy and choosing negotiation over full-scale war, even when it cost him politically.

Abigail Adams, born in 1744 in Massachusetts, matched John’s intellect with her own sharp mind and formidable pen. She managed the family farm, raised children often alone while John was away, and maintained a remarkable correspondence with him that gives historians one of the clearest windows into the founding generation. In those letters she pushed for women’s education and famously urged John to “remember the ladies,” making her an early and unmistakable voice for women in the new republic.

When John became president, Abigail became the first First Lady to occupy the still-unfinished White House. She brought to it the habits of a New England household: efficient, orderly, frugal, focused more on substance than ceremony. While foreign diplomats might have expected a courtly spread, what they encountered instead was a presidential home that felt like an enlarged farm kitchen—practical, hospitable, and anchored in the food of her upbringing.

Presidential Appetite: What the Adams Ate

If George Washington’s table is remembered for hoe cakes and Jefferson’s for French-inspired fare, the Adams table tells a different story: sturdy, local, and unfussy. John Adams was closely associated with New England staples—apple dishes in particular, and hearty meals like New England boiled dinners that made the most of preserved meats and root vegetables. He grew up in a culture where cider could appear even at breakfast and where apples, cabbage, potatoes, and salted beef were the backbone of the family diet.

Abigail Adams’s apple pan dowdy became legendary in later retellings: a rustic apple dessert baked in a pan, its crust deliberately “dowdied” by breaking and pressing it down into the bubbling fruit. It draws on ingredients that were foundational to an 18th‑century New England pantry—apples from the orchard, molasses from Atlantic trade, flour and fat from the farm. Nothing about it is ornamental; everything about it is comforting and efficient.

New England boiled dinner—a pot of corned beef simmered with potatoes, carrots, cabbage, and other roots—captures the same ethos on the savory side. It begins with preserved meat, stretches it with vegetables, and feeds many from a single pot, a perfect metaphor for a frugal, community-minded republic. Imagining the Adams family gathered around such a meal, you can almost feel the transition from talk of planting and weather to talk of constitutions and treaties.

In our Presidential Appetite’s series, the Adams home stands out not for extravagance but for how directly their food mirrors their politics: grounded in locality, suspicious of ostentation, and designed to sustain ordinary people doing extraordinary civic work.

Abigail Adams’s Apple Pan Dowdy

This modern-friendly recipe stays close in spirit to the historical versions attributed to Abigail Adams. It’s a deep-dish apple dessert with a top crust that’s deliberately broken and pushed into the fruit, giving you a tangle of pastry and spiced apples in a glossy molasses-kissed syrup.

Ingredients

Pastry

1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour

1/2 cup shortening (or half shortening, half butter)

1/4 teaspoon salt

3–4 tablespoons ice water

1/4 cup butter, melted (for brushing/layering)

Apple filling

10 medium tart apples (like Granny Smith), peeled, cored, sliced

1/2 cup granulated sugar

1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/4 cup molasses

3 tablespoons butter, melted

1/4 cup water

Make the pastry

Stir together flour and salt. Cut in the shortening (or shortening and butter) until you have coarse crumbs.Sprinkle in ice water, 1 tablespoon at a time, just until the dough holds together when pressed.

Roll the dough into a rectangle about 1/4 inch thick. Brush with some melted butter, cut in half, stack, roll lightly; repeat the cut-and-stack process a few times to create rough layers.

Press into a disk, wrap, and chill for about 1 hour.

Divide the chilled dough into two portions. Roll one to fit the bottom and sides of an 8–9 inch deep pie dish or similar baking dish. Roll the second for the top crust and keep it chilled while you prepare the filling.

Filling, assembly, and “dowdying”

Heat oven to 400°F (200°C).

Toss sliced apples with sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and salt.In a small bowl, mix molasses, melted butter, and water.

Place the apples in the pastry-lined dish and pour the molasses mixture evenly over them.

Lay the top crust over the apples and seal the edges, crimping with your fingers or a fork.

Bake at 400°F for about 10 minutes to set the crust, then reduce oven temperature to 325°F (165°C) and bake another 10–15 minutes until the crust is firm but not fully browned.

Open the oven and, using a sharp knife, cut down through the top crust in several places, gently pushing pieces of crust into the apples so juices can bubble up over the pastry.

Continue baking at 325°F for about 45–50 minutes, until the apples are very tender and the filling is bubbling through the broken crust.

Let rest at least 15–20 minutes so the juices thicken slightly. Serve warm.

How to serve it like the Founding era: bring the baking dish straight to the table, spoon it out in generous, imperfect scoops, and pass a small pitcher of cream or a bowl of softly whipped cream.

Extra authenticity points if you pair it with coffee, tea, or warm cider, and serve on simple earthenware rather than anything too fancy.

John Adams’s New England Boiled Dinner

To round out this Presidential Appetite, pair Abigail’s dessert with a main course that would have felt right at home on the Adams table: a classic New England boiled dinner.

Ingredients

3–4 pounds corned beef brisket (with spice packet, if included)Water to cover

2 bay leaves

8–10 whole black peppercorns

4–6 medium carrots, peeled and cut into large chunks

4–6 medium potatoes, peeled and halved1 small turnip or rutabaga, peeled and cut into chunks (optional but traditional)

2–3 parsnips, peeled and cut into chunks (optional)

1 small head green cabbage, cut into wedgesSalt and pepper to tasteButter, vinegar, and mustard for servingInstructions

Rinse the corned beef under cold water to remove excess surface brine. Place it in a large pot and cover with water by 1–2 inches. Add bay leaves and peppercorns.

Bring to a boil, then reduce to a gentle simmer. Cover and cook for 2 1/2–3 hours, until the meat is very tender, skimming foam as needed.

About 45 minutes before the beef is done, add carrots, potatoes, turnip/rutabaga, and parsnips. Make sure they’re mostly submerged; add hot water if needed.

About 20 minutes before the end, add the cabbage wedges on top. Cover and simmer until all vegetables are tender.

Remove the beef and let it rest 10–15 minutes before slicing across the grain.

Use a slotted spoon to transfer vegetables to a platter and arrange the sliced beef alongside.

Taste the broth and adjust seasoning; drizzle a little over the platter if desired.

Serve with butter, vinegar, and mustard at the table.

How Their Food Reflects Their America

The Adamses believed in a republic built on restraint, law, and the everyday labor of ordinary people, not on grandiose displays. Their food tells the same story. Apple pan dowdy uses local apples, a basic dough, and a touch of molasses—nothing imported to impress, everything designed to nourish. New England boiled dinner takes preserved beef and humble vegetables and turns them into a communal meal that can feed a household and whoever else happens to be at the table.

In an era when the young United States was deciding whether it would follow European models of aristocratic splendor, the Adams home quietly argued for a different path: a presidency that could sit comfortably beside a farmhouse stove. When you simmer a pot of corned beef and vegetables, then finish the evening with a warm apple pan dowdy and cream, you’re not just cooking from history—you’re tasting the values that shaped it.

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“Sweet Sins of Carnevale: Chiacchiere, Castagnole, and the Farewell to Meat”

In Italy, Carnevale is a season of masks, confetti, and—most dangerously—deep-fried dough. Long before it was an Instagram aesthetic, it was a practical and spiritual hinge in the year: the last, exuberant use of fat, eggs, and sugar before kitchens turned toward the leaner days of Lent.

The very word Carnevale is often traced to the Latin phrase carne levare—“remove meat” or “farewell to meat”—a reminder that once the streamers were swept up, meat and other rich foods would be set aside in favor of fasting and abstinence.

Carnevale sweets sit right at that edge. They’re not subtle. They’re crisp, shattering, sugar‑dusted, and unapologetically rich. Two of the most beloved are chiacchiere, paper‑thin ribbons of fried dough, and castagnole, plump little dough balls that can be fried or baked and rolled in sugar.

These are the “sweet sins” of the season: not evil in themselves, but intentionally indulgent, made to be enjoyed in the full knowledge that restraint is coming.

Carnevale and “Farewell to Meat”

In many parts of Europe, pre‑Lent days were historically about emptying the pantry of anything that would be forbidden or scarce during the fast: meat, butter, lard, eggs, and sometimes even dairy more broadly. Italians took that logic and ran with it. As meat and rich dishes were about to disappear from daily meals, families turned those same “restricted” ingredients into desserts—stretching flour with eggs and fat, then frying and sugaring them into something that felt extravagant before the season of abstinence began.

The phrase carne levare captures that transition. For weeks, communities threw themselves into feasting, parades, and sweets; then, almost overnight, the tone shifted. Tables that had been covered in fried pastries and roasts would host pots of legumes, vegetables, and simpler breads. This rhythm—richness, then restraint—echoes through other faith traditions too.

Just as Lent leads Christians through a period of fasting toward the joy of Easter, Muslims pass through Ramadan’s daily hunger to reach the sweetness of Eid, when special desserts and festive meals mark the return to feasting. In each case, sweetness tastes different after you’ve known what it is to go without.

Chiacchiere: Crispy Carnival Ribbons

Chiacchiere goes by many regional names—cenci, frappe, bugie, crostoli—but the experience is the same: a fragile, bubbled strip of dough that shatters under a veil of powdered sugar. They are light in texture, but built from ingredients (eggs, butter, sugar) that once would have been precious and temporarily “off‑limits” in the weeks ahead.

Ingredients

2 cups (about 250 g) all‑purpose flour

2 tablespoons sugar½ teaspoon salt2 large eggs2 tablespoons unsalted butter, melted

2–3 tablespoons white wine, grappa, or milk (enough to bring dough together)

Zest of 1 lemon or orange (optional but traditional)

Neutral oil for frying

Powdered sugar, for dusting.

Directions

Make the dough:

In a bowl, combine flour, sugar, and salt.

In another bowl, whisk eggs, melted butter, citrus zest, and wine (or milk).

Pour the wet ingredients into the dry and mix until a dough forms, adding more liquid a teaspoon at a time if needed. The dough should be smooth and firm, not sticky.

Knead briefly on a lightly floured surface, then wrap and let rest for about 30 minutes. Resting relaxes the gluten so you can roll the dough very thin.

Roll and cut

Divide the dough into 2–3 pieces.

Roll each piece as thin as you can—ideally 1–2 mm—using a rolling pin or pasta machine. The thinner the dough, the more delicate and blistered your chiacchiere will be.

Cut into strips or rectangles (around 1 x 4 inches / 2.5 x 10 cm). You can slit the center of each strip and pull one end through to create a twist.

Fry

Heat neutral oil in a wide pot to about 340–350°F (170–175°C).

Fry a few pieces at a time, turning once, until puffed and lightly golden—this happens quickly.

Remove with a slotted spoon and drain on paper towels.

Serve

When still slightly warm, dust generously with powdered sugar.

Pile high on a platter; they’re best the day they’re made, when they’re at their crispest.

Castagnole: Little Carnival Dough Balls

If chiacchiere are crisp and lacy, castagnole are their softer, cuddlier cousins. Their name suggests “little chestnuts,” and that’s about their size and shape: small balls of dough, fried or baked, then rolled in sugar. Some versions are plain; others hide a filling of pastry cream, ricotta, or chocolate‑hazelnut spread. Either way, they are bite‑size proof that even the “scraps” of flour and eggs could be transformed into something festive before Lent began.

Ingredients

1 ¾ cups (about 220 g) all‑purpose flour

⅓ cup (70 g) sugar

1 ½ teaspoons baking powder

Pinch of salt

2 large eggs

3 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened or melted and cooled

Zest of 1 lemon or orange (optional)

1–2 tablespoons milk, as needed to bring dough together

Neutral oil for frying (or a little extra butter/oil for baking)

Granulated sugar or powdered sugar, for rolling

Directions

Make the doughIn a bowl, mix flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt.

In another bowl, whisk eggs with softened/melted butter and citrus zest.

Add wet ingredients to dry and mix into a soft dough, adding a splash of milk if needed. The dough should be soft but not sticky.

Let rest 15–20 minutes.ShapePinch off small pieces of dough and roll between your hands into balls roughly the size of large marbles or small chestnuts.

Fry (classic version)

Heat oil to about 340–350°F (170–175°C).

Fry castagnole in batches, turning occasionally, until golden and cooked through.

Drain on paper towels and immediately roll in granulated sugar or dust with powdered sugar.

Bake (lighter option)

Preheat oven to 350°F (175°C).

Place dough balls on a parchment‑lined baking sheet and brush lightly with melted butter or neutral oil.

Bake 12–15 minutes, until lightly golden.

Roll in sugar while still warm.

To take them “over the top,” you can inject some with sweetened ricotta or chocolate‑hazelnut spread after frying, but even the plain, sugared version carries the feel of a treat enjoyed right on the cusp of a fasting season.

Sweetness After (and Before) Restraint

There’s a reason these desserts feel a little bit mischievous in the context of Lent: they are engineered to be everything Lent is not. Where Lent calls for simplicity, they are elaborate. Where Lent leans on beans and bread, they lean on frying oil and sugar. But the story doesn’t end there.

Across traditions, you see the same pattern: a swing between feasting and fasting, with sweetness on both sides of restraint.

Christians move from Carnevale’s chiacchiere and castagnole into Lent’s soups and simple breads, and eventually to Easter’s celebratory cakes and breads.

Muslims step from ordinary time into Ramadan, setting aside daytime food and drink, then gather each evening for iftar and finish the month with Eid al‑Fitr, when special sweets and festive dishes return in force.

Jewish communities strip leaven from their homes for Passover and the Feast of Unleavened Bread, then celebrate liberation with symbolic foods that themselves carry sweetness.

In other words, chiacchiere and castagnole are not just “sweet sins.” They’re signposts. They sit at the boundary between seasons and ask us to notice what changes when we choose to put the oil away for a while. When the fast is over—whether it ends in Easter, Eid, or the closing of Passover—sweetness comes back. But we taste it differently, because our appetites and our attention have been retrained.

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Presidential Appetite

Have you ever wondered what the founding fathers craved while they were laying the foundations of the United States?

What culinary treat kept them going? Filled their minds and bellies and fueled them through our nations birthing pains?

Today we’re going to be taking a look into the eating habits of America’s Father, General George Washington.

Was he a man of extravagant tastes and appetite?

Or did he prefer the simpler meals of his time.

Stick around to find out in this week’s blog all about Food, Culture and History.

A Simple Breakfast for a Complex Man

For all his power, wealth, and status, George Washington’s everyday tastes were surprisingly humble.

While he entertained dignitaries with impressive dinners, his personal preferences leaned toward plain, hearty, and familiar foods that reflected his Virginia roots and the rhythms of life at Mount Vernon.

One dish in particular stood out so strongly that his own step‑granddaughter remembered it clearly decades later: hoecakes, cornmeal griddle cakes that he “invariably” ate for breakfast.

Hoecakes were simple—just cornmeal, water, a little yeast, and fat for cooking—but they were also deeply symbolic. They connected Washington’s table to the land he cultivated, the grains he milled, and the labor (much of it enslaved) that sustained his estate. When we make his hoecakes today, we’re not just recreating a recipe; we’re touching a small, everyday piece of the first president’s life.

What Exactly Are Hoecakes?

Hoecakes are thin, rustic cornmeal cakes cooked on a hot, greased surface. In the 18th century, they could be baked on a flat griddle, a pan, or even the back of a hoe held near a fire—hence the name. They’re cousins to modern pancakes and johnnycakes, but a little heartier and more rustic in texture.At Mount Vernon, Washington’s hoecakes were typically:

Made from white cornmeal.

Leavened with yeast and left to sit overnight.

Cooked on a greased griddle.

Served hot at breakfast with plenty of butter and honey.

According to his step‑granddaughter, Nelly Custis Lewis, these hoecakes weren’t an occasional treat. They were a regular part of his morning table—part habit, part comfort, and part reflection of the grain‑based economy he presided over.

Nelly Custis’s Legacy: The Family Recipe

The version of the recipe that we know today comes to us through Nelly Custis Lewis, who grew up in Washington’s household and later shared how his favorite hoecakes were prepared. Culinary historians and the team at Mount Vernon have adapted her description into a workable modern recipe that still captures the spirit of the original.

The key details she preserved:

  • The batter began with cornmeal and yeast.
  • It was mixed with water into a loose batter and left to stand overnight.
  • In the morning, more cornmeal and ingredients were added to make a thick, griddle‑ready batter.
  • The cakes were cooked in fat on a hot surface and served with butter and honey at breakfast.

That overnight rest is important. It gives the hoecakes a delicate lift and a subtle fermented flavor, transforming simple cornmeal into something soft, fragrant, and special enough to have a permanent place on Washington’s breakfast table.

How to Make George Washington’s Hoecakes at Home

Here’s a modern, kitchen‑friendly version inspired by Nelly Custis’s description and later historical adaptations. It keeps the core technique: a yeast‑raised cornmeal batter, rested overnight, then cooked on a hot, greased griddle and served with melted butter and honey.

Ingredients

1/2 teaspoon active dry yeast

2 1/2 cups white cornmeal, divided

3 to 4 cups lukewarm water

1/2 teaspoon salt

1 large egg, lightly beaten

Lard, shortening, or neutral oil for the griddle

Melted butter, for serving

Honey (or maple syrup), for serving

Step 1: Make the Overnight Sponge

The night before you plan to serve the hoecakes:

In a large bowl, combine the yeast and 1 1/4 cups of the cornmeal.

Stir in about 1 cup of lukewarm water to form a loose, pancake‑like batter. If it’s too thick, add up to 1/2 cup more water.

Cover the bowl and let it rest overnight. You can leave it in the fridge or in a slightly warm spot.

By morning, the surface should look a bit bubbly and active—that’s your sign the yeast has been working.

Step 2: Finish the Batter

In the morning, stir the sponge and add 1/2 to 1 cup lukewarm water to loosen it to a thick batter again.

Add the salt and the beaten egg, and mix well.

Gradually add the remaining 1 1/4 cups cornmeal, alternating with small splashes of water as needed, until you have a batter similar to thick waffle batter—pourable, but not runny.

Cover and let the batter rest for 15–20 minutes at room temperature so the cornmeal can fully hydrate.

Step 3: Cook the Hoecakes

Heat a griddle or large skillet over medium to medium‑high heat.

Lightly grease the surface with lard, shortening, or oil.

Ladle the batter onto the hot griddle in about 1/4‑cup portions, leaving space between each cake.

Cook for about 4–5 minutes, until the edges look set and the bottoms are golden brown.

Flip carefully and cook another 4–5 minutes, until browned and cooked through.

Transfer finished hoecakes to a warm oven (around 200°F) while you cook the rest.

Step 4: Serve Like Washington

To finish them the way George Washington liked:

Brush the hot hoecakes with melted butter.

Drizzle generously with honey.

Serve immediately for breakfast with tea or coffee. For an extra‑historical touch, imagine yourself at Mount Vernon, sharing a morning table where politics, plantation life, and the birth of a new nation quietly mingled over simple corn cakes and sweet honey.

What These Hoecakes Tell Us About Food, Culture, and Power

On the surface, this is just a breakfast recipe. But when we look closer, Washington’s hoecakes reveal a layered story about food and culture in early America.

They reflect the importance of corn as a staple grain in the colonies and the early United States.

They show how European tastes and techniques (yeast‑raised batters, griddle cooking) were blended with Indigenous ingredients like maize.

They highlight the central role of estates like Mount Vernon—self‑sufficient worlds where gardens, orchards, fields, mills, and enslaved labor all feed the household table.

By recreating this recipe today, we’re not just tasting what Washington ate—we’re tasting a piece of the world he lived in: the comfort of familiar food, the reliance on the land, and the quiet rituals that supported a life spent in public leadership.

Bringing History to Your Table

Cooking historic recipes is one of my favorite ways to make the past feel tangible. A speech or a document can feel distant, but a plate of warm hoecakes drizzled with honey? That’s something you can hold, smell, and taste. It’s a sensory connection to people who lived, worked, and made decisions that still shape our lives.

If you decide to try George Washington’s hoecakes in your own kitchen, pay attention to how they make you feel: Are they comforting? Rustic? Surprisingly familiar? That small moment at your breakfast table echoes mornings at Mount Vernon more than two centuries ago.

And if you enjoyed this dive into food, culture, and history, stay tuned—there are many more stories hiding in the recipes of the past, just waiting to be brought back to life, one dish at a time.

Crêpes, Beignets, and the Last Egg: French & Belgian Mardi Gras

In France and Belgium, the countdown to Lent sounds less like marching bands and more like batter hitting a hot pan. Crêpes sizzling in butter, sugar‑dusted fritters, and waffles piled high all grew out of the same pre‑Lent instinct: use up the last of the eggs, milk, and butter before the fast begins.

On Shrove Tuesday—known in many places as Mardi Gras—European families would clear their larders of rich ingredients that were once restricted during Lent, turning necessity into a delicious ritual.

Today we’re following that story across the Atlantic into French and Belgian kitchens, cooking three classics: paper‑thin crêpes, airy beignets, and crispy bugnes (also called “angel wings”). Together, they tell the tale of how people turned the “last egg” into a feast before the fast.

Shrove Tuesday, Pancake Day, and the “Last Egg”

Before modern refrigeration and relaxed fasting rules, Lent in Catholic Europe could be serious business: no meat, and in many regions no eggs, butter, or milk for the duration.

Shrove Tuesday (from “to shrive,” to confess) was both a spiritual and practical moment—people went to confession and also used up ingredients that wouldn’t be allowed during the coming weeks.

In Britain and parts of Northern Europe, that logic became “Pancake Day.” In France and Belgium, it took the form of crêpes, beignets, waffles, and regional fritters like bugnes and pets‑de‑nonne (nun’s “puffs”).

Flour, eggs, milk, sugar, and fat were transformed into foods that felt like a celebration, even as they signaled that leaner days were coming.

When you flip a crêpe or dust a platter of bugnes with sugar, you’re participating in a long line of cooks who refused to let good ingredients—or a good story—go to waste.

Classic French Crêpes (Sweet or Savory)

Crêpes are the quintessential Shrove Tuesday/Mardi Gras dish in France: thin, flexible pancakes that can go from dessert to dinner with a change of filling.

The batter is simple and relies heavily on eggs and milk—exactly the ingredients older Lenten rules would restrict.

Ingredients (about 12 crêpes)

1 cup (125 g) all‑purpose flour

2 large eggs

1 ¼ cups (300 ml) milk (or half milk, half water)

2 tablespoons melted butter (plus more for the pan)

1 tablespoon sugar (optional, for sweet crêpes)½ teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon vanilla extract (optional, for sweet crêpes)

Directions

Make the batter:

In a bowl, whisk flour, salt, and sugar (if using).

In another bowl, whisk eggs, milk, melted butter, and vanilla (if using).

Slowly pour the wet ingredients into the dry, whisking until smooth. If there are lumps, strain the batter.

Let rest 20–30 minutes; this relaxes the gluten and makes more tender crêpes.

Cook the crêpes

Heat a nonstick or well‑seasoned pan over medium; lightly brush with butter.

Pour in about ¼ cup of batter, swirling immediately to coat the bottom in a thin layer.

Cook 1–2 minutes until the edges look dry and lift easily; flip and cook 30–60 seconds more.

Stack cooked crêpes on a plate, covered with a clean towel.

Serve

Sweet options: sugar and lemon, jam, Nutella, honey, stewed fruit, or powdered sugar.

Savory options: grated cheese and ham, sautéed mushrooms, spinach and cheese, or eggs and herbs.

You can invite readers to make crêpes as a household ritual on the evening before they begin any kind of fast or spiritual reset, whether or not they formally celebrate Lent.

French Beignets (Home‑Style)

In New Orleans, beignets are famous, but they’re rooted in older French Carnival fritters: squares or shapes of yeast dough, fried and blanketed in powdered sugar.

They use flour, eggs, milk, and fat in exactly the way a pre‑Lent cook would have hoped.

Ingredients

½ cup (120 ml) warm milk

2 teaspoons active dry yeast

2 tablespoons sugar1 large egg

2 tablespoons melted butter or neutral oil

2 cups (250 g) all‑purpose flour (plus extra for dusting)

½ teaspoon salt

Neutral oil for frying

Powdered sugar, for dusting

Directions

Activate yeast

Mix warm milk, yeast, and 1 tablespoon sugar.

Let sit 5–10 minutes until foamy.

Make dough

Whisk in remaining sugar, egg, and melted butter.

Stir in flour and salt until a soft dough forms; knead briefly until smooth and slightly tacky.

Place in an oiled bowl, cover, and let rise until doubled (about 1 hour).

Shape

Punch down dough and roll to about ¼ inch (0.5–0.7 cm) thick on a floured surface.

Cut into roughly 2‑inch (5 cm) squares or rectangles.

Fry

Heat oil to about 350°F/175°C in a deep pot.

Fry a few pieces at a time, turning once, until puffed and golden (2–3 minutes).

Drain on paper towels.ServeDust generously with powdered sugar while still warm.

These little pillows show how a humble dough can become a joyful “last hurrah” for butter and eggs before a season of restraint.

Bugnes (French “Angel Wing” Fritters)

Bugnes are a traditional Carnival fritter from regions like Lyon: thin strips of dough, twisted and fried until crisp, then sugared.

They’re closely related to other “angel wing” cookies across Europe and are classic pre‑Lent treats.

Ingredients

2 cups (250 g) all‑purpose flour

2 tablespoons sugar

½ teaspoon salt

2 teaspoons baking powder (or a pinch of yeast if you prefer a longer rise)

2 large eggs

3 tablespoons melted butter2–3 tablespoons milk (as needed)

Zest of 1 lemon or orange (optional)

1–2 teaspoons rum or vanilla (optional traditional aroma)

Neutral oil for frying

Powdered sugar, for dusting

DIRECTIONS

Make dough

In a bowl, mix flour, sugar, salt, and baking powder.

In another bowl, whisk eggs, melted butter, citrus zest, and rum/vanilla (if using).

Combine wet and dry ingredients, adding milk 1 tablespoon at a time until you get a soft but not sticky dough.

Knead briefly, form into a ball, wrap, and rest 30 minutes.

Shape

Roll dough very thin (2–3 mm) on a floured surface.

Cut into strips about 1 x 4 inches (2.5 x 10 cm).

Cut a slit in the center of each strip and gently pull one end through the slit to create a twist.

Fry

Heat oil to about 340–350°F/170–175°C.

Fry bugnes in batches until lightly golden and crisp, turning once.

Drain on paper towels.

Serve

Dust generously with powdered sugar.

Eat the same day for best crispness.

Bugnes are as much about texture as taste: the shattering crunch under sugar is a sensory counterpart to the richness of the ingredients you’re about to put away for a while.

From Butter and Eggs to Simpler Plates

When Ash Wednesday arrives, many Christians move from this butter‑and‑egg abundance to simpler fare: soups, bread, beans, and fish.

The contrast is the point. Crêpes and fritters aren’t there to make you feel guilty; they’re there to mark a turning of the page, to remind you that seasons change and that sometimes we choose to set good things aside for a higher purpose.

What does it mean, in our own kitchens, to feast with gratitude and then fast with intention? 

Share your thoughts in the comments.

It’s NickyLynn Media

Fat Tuesday in New Orleans: King Cake and the Feast Before the Fast

As Lent approaches, New Orleans throws one last, glorious party.

Fat Tuesday—Mardi Gras—is the moment when the city leans all the way into sweetness, spice, and revelry before the season shifts toward fasting and reflection. For Christians, especially in Catholic traditions, this “feast before the fast” is more than an excuse to indulge; it’s a ritual doorway into Lent, a way of celebrating abundance before choosing voluntary restraint.

Historically, households needed to use up perishable rich ingredients—meat, eggs, butter, sugar—before Lenten rules kicked in, when many communities avoided meat and often restricted dairy and eggs as well.

Those practical roots flowered into Carnival, a whole season of masked balls, parades, and iconic foods. In New Orleans, that story lives on the table: in rings of king cake dusted with purple, green, and gold, in big pots of gumbo and jambalaya simmering on the stove, and in clouds of powdered sugar falling over hot beignets.

Today’s post sets the tone for your entire “Feast and Fast” series. We’ll bake a classic New Orleans–style king cake and put on a pot of weeknight gumbo or jambalaya—two dishes that capture the spirit of celebration before the fast.

Why New Orleans Feasts on Fat Tuesday

Mardi Gras literally means “Fat Tuesday,” the last day before Ash Wednesday, when Christians traditionally enter Lent, a 40‑day season of fasting, prayer, and almsgiving leading up to Easter.

In earlier centuries, fasting during Lent was far more rigorous than most modern practice: meat was off the table, and in many regions, dairy and eggs were too.

That meant the days before Lent were a countdown to scarcity. Families cooked through stores of lard, butter, and eggs so nothing spoiled, and they did it together. Over time, that simple “use it up” rhythm turned into Carnival culture: costumed parades, music, and food that is unapologetically rich.

New Orleans, with its French, Spanish, African, Caribbean, and Native influences, layered its own flavors onto this tradition. Cajun and Creole cuisines—already generous with spice, smoke, and roux—became the culinary soundtrack of Mardi Gras, making the city one of the most famous places in the world to experience Fat Tuesday.

King Cake: A Sweet Circle of Community

King cake is the edible icon of New Orleans Mardi Gras. It’s a ring‑shaped, enriched bread—somewhere between a brioche and a cinnamon roll—braided, baked, and iced, then showered in purple, green, and gold sugar. Those colors are not random: purple stands for justice, green for faith, and gold for power, the official colors of Mardi Gras.

Hidden inside the cake is a tiny figure, traditionally a baby, symbolizing the Christ Child and connected to older Epiphany “king cake” customs. Whoever finds the baby in their slice is “king” or “queen” for the day—and is usually expected to bring the next cake or host the next party.

That little tradition turns dessert into a chain of hospitality that can run through the whole season.

Easy New Orleans–Style King Cake (Home Version)

This is a simplified, home‑friendly take—perfect for your readers to bake along with your video.

Ingredients

(dough)

Warm milk

Active dry yeast

Sugar

Eggs

Melted butter

All‑purpose flour

Salt

Filling

Softened butterBrown sugarCinnamonIcing & decorationPowdered sugarMilk or creamVanillaPurple, green, and gold colored sugar or sprinkles

Small heat‑safe plastic baby or bean (added after baking)Method (high level):

Mix warm milk, yeast, and a bit of sugar; let foam.

Add remaining sugar, eggs, melted butter, flour, and salt; knead into a soft, elastic dough. Let rise until doubled.

Roll into a large rectangle, spread with softened butter, sprinkle with brown sugar and cinnamon.

Roll up like a jelly roll, then form into a ring and pinch ends together firmly. Let rise again.

Bake until golden and cooked through; cool completely.

Whisk powdered sugar with a little milk and vanilla into a pourable icing; drizzle over cooled cake and immediately sprinkle with purple, green, and gold sugar.

Gently push the plastic baby or bean into the underside of the cake before serving.Serve slices while you explain the symbolism in your video or post: the circular shape as community, the colors and baby as nods to both faith and Carnival culture.

Gumbo or Jambalaya: Big Pots for Big Crowds

If king cake is dessert, gumbo and jambalaya are the heartbeat of the savory side of Fat Tuesday. Both are one‑pot dishes designed to feed many people, making them perfect for parties, church gatherings, and family tables.

Gumbo is a thick, flavorful stew built on a dark roux—a slowly cooked mixture of flour and fat that gives body and nutty depth.

It’s usually loaded with the “holy trinity” of Louisiana cooking (onion, celery, bell pepper), plus sausage, chicken, and often seafood, then served over rice.

Jambalaya is more like a cousin to paella or pilaf: rice, stock, spices, and meats are cooked together in the same pot until the grains absorb all the flavor.

Both dishes are rooted in West African, French, Spanish, and local influences, mirroring the cultural blend that formed New Orleans itself.

Week night Gumbo Core idea: You’re aiming for deep flavor without intimidating steps.

Key components:

Roux: equal parts oil and flour, cooked till deep brown.

Vegetables: onion, celery, bell pepper, garlic.

Protein: andouille sausage plus chicken thighs (or just one, if the budget is tight).

Liquid: chicken stock, bay leaves, thyme.

Serve: over hot cooked rice, with green onions and hot sauce.

Instructions:

Make a roux by cooking oil and flour over medium‑low heat, stirring constantly until chocolate brown.

Add chopped onion, celery, and bell pepper; cook until softened.

Stir in garlic.

Add sliced sausage, browned chicken, stock, and seasonings; simmer until chicken is tender and flavors meld.

Adjust seasoning and serve over rice.

For Christians, Lent is not about rejecting joy; it’s about re‑ordering it. Rich foods on Fat Tuesday aren’t “bad”; they’re a reminder that we choose to fast, to pray, and to give—not because our traditions hate pleasure, but because sometimes we need to step back from constant feasting to remember what truly satisfies.

From New Orleans king cake to Italian Carnevale sweets, Mexican capirotada, Ramadan iftar soups, and Passover matzah. All of them tell a similar story—communities marking sacred time with what they cook, what they share, and what they willingly set aside.

For today, though, let the good times roll. Slice the king cake, ladle the gumbo, and invite your readers to think about what it might mean, in their own tradition, to feast with intention before they fast.

AI generated video/CapCut/It’sNickyLynn’sMedia

Salt, Spice, and Survival: The Origin Story of a Korean Staple

Ingredients

1 large napa cabbage (about 2–3 pounds)

1/4 cup non‑iodized salt (sea or kosher)

Water (enough to dissolve salt and cover cabbage)

1/4–1/2 cup Korean red pepper flakes (gochugaru), to taste

6–8 garlic cloves, minced

1–2 inches fresh ginger, minced

1–2 teaspoons sugar (optional, helps fermentation)

2–3 green onions, sliced

1 small carrot or a chunk of daikon radish, julienned (optional, for crunch)

2–4 tablespoons fish sauce, soy sauce, or a little miso for a vegetarian umami option

Step 1 – Salt the cabbage

Cut the napa cabbage lengthwise into quarters, then into bite‑size pieces.

In a large bowl, dissolve the salt in enough water to make a salty brine, then add the cabbage and toss; it should taste pleasantly salty, not unbearable.

Let sit 1–2 hours, tossing every 20–30 minutes, until the thick white parts bend without snapping.

Rinse the cabbage 2–3 times in cold water to remove excess salt, then drain well (let it sit in a colander while you make the paste).

Step 2 – Make the seasoning paste

In a bowl, combine gochugaru, garlic, ginger, sugar, and your chosen umami (fish sauce, soy sauce, or a spoonful of miso plus a splash of water).

Stir into a thick paste; if it is too dry, add 1–3 tablespoons of water a little at a time.

Add green onions and carrot/daikon and mix to coat them lightly with the paste.

Step 3 – Combine cabbage and paste

Put the drained cabbage in a large bowl.Add the paste and, using gloved hands, gently massage it into the cabbage until all pieces are evenly coated (add more chili flakes if you want it spicier, more water if it seems too thick).

Taste a piece; it should be a bit salty and strongly flavored, because fermentation will mellow it.

Step 4 – Pack and ferment

Pack the kimchi into a clean glass jar or food‑safe container, pressing down firmly to remove air pockets until the brine rises to cover the vegetables.

Leave at least 1 inch of headspace at the top; wipe the rim and close the lid loosely (or use an airlock if you have one).

Let it sit at cool room temperature (ideally 65–72°F) for 1–3 days; once or twice a day, open briefly to release gas and press the vegetables back under the brine.

Step 5 – Taste and refrigerate

Start tasting after 24 hours; when it has a pleasant sourness and the flavors are rounded, move it to the refrigerator to slow fermentation.

It will continue to develop flavor over 1–2 weeks and keeps for several weeks or longer if always kept submerged, clean, and cold.

Taco-Papusa Night

A simple taco night quickly took a flavorful detour, turning into an adventure with spicy pupusas—an improvised dish rooted in thousands of years of Latin American history and culture.

It was a regular Tuesday afternoon. The kitchen was clean, groceries were getting low, and I just knew Tacos were my best chance at filling the bellies of my family. We have ground beef, one packet of taco seasoning, cheese, and an unopened bag of massa flour. I’ve made tortillas before, so surely this will be an easy assignment.

While gathering my mise en place the babies, as usual, come join me in the kitchen to “help” mommy. They skootched their chairs from the table to the counter as I’m looking for measuring spoons and cups. I swear my head was down looking in the drawer for 5 seconds and I hear the sound of dry granuals spilling. Turning around was very disheartening. My ever assertive youngest baby had managed to tear open the taco seasoning and poured it all over the counter, chair and floor.

“Deep breaths Mommy”. As I cleaned the spill of seasoning, hoping to salvage enough seasoning to make these tacos, my toddler comes over to help by wiping the seasoning on the chair to the floor, and then they both stick their hands in it attempting to wipe it away.

All this momma could do was step back, smile and take another deep breath. I really want tacos or something latin flavored for dinner. While cleaning off the kids and areas of the spill, I remembered I have a bunch of dried chillies stacked in the top shelf of the cupboard. I know I’ve got plenty of seasonings available, may I can wing together some sauce.

With a revised game plan, we got to work.
First we made the massa dough for our tortillas, then I got to work on the sauce.

For the massa dough I followed the direction on the back of the bag. once the dough was made I covered it with a wet paper towel and put it in the fridge until it was time for me to roll them out into tortillas. Then I put the baby’s away for a nap before taking down the chillies peppers and other ingredients to make some sauce.

Bolo de Rei – A spin on a cultural tradition.

During Christmas Portuguese tables around the world will hold a special place for the Bolo de Rei, or Kings Bread. It’s a tradition to commemorate the Epiphany- the day the three kings found the baby Jesus and presented him with the gifts of gold, frankincense, and mur. Also traditionally the final day of the 12 days of Christmas.

Epiphany was a tradition my Avó shared with me when I was little. She’d have a Christmas stocking full of small gifts for her grandchildren, accompanied by the story of how it was growing up in the Azores. She said that Christmas eve and Christmas day was about going to Mass and the community. If they were lucky enough to receive gifts, it would have been on January 6, the day of the epiphany. Families would go caroling with candles, come home, have a big family get together and  gift the children in the family.

At the family gathering you could expect bacalao, pasteis natal, and Bolo de Rei, a Portuguese sweet bread with nuts and candied or dehydrated fruits in it, and sometimes eggs would be folded into the top of the loaves, or a bean would be put in the batter and whoever got the piece the bean would be hosting next year’s festivities. My version of this traditional Kings bread does not include dried or candied fruit or nuts. I really can’t stomach dehydrated fruit, it’s not yummy to me. So I substituted the dried fruit for frozen fruit, and it still hit just as good.

Ingredients

1 pkg yeast

1Tbs honey

1 cup of tepid water

1/2 cup granulated sugar infused with lemon or orange rind

1/2 cup room temperature milk

2 room temperature eggs

3 cups all purpose flour

1 tsp salt

1 cup frozen fruit medley

1/2 cup of nuts of choice (optional)

Instructions

  • Peel the rind of lemon or orange and place in a bowl with 1/2 cup of granulated sugar. Cover rinds in sugar and put aside.
  • Pour milk and set aside.
  • In a large mixing bowl dissolve honey in tepid water, then add yeast packet. Mix and let bloom for about 20 to 30 minutes.
  • Once yeast has bloomed add the milk, eggs, and infused sugar. (Make sure to remove rinds before adding to the wet mixture)
  • Add and beat 1 egg at a time.
  • Add flour and salt. Mix in a little at a time, until incorporated.
  • Cover in plastic and let rise until it’s doubled in size. 30-45 minutes.
  • With well oiled hands, punch down dough, fold in fruit and nuts.
  • Preheat the oven to 350 degrees farenheit.
  • Separate into 2 loaf pans that are generously greased or lined with parchment paper. Cover in a plastic bag and let the dough sit for another 30-45 minutes.
  • Remove bread loaves from plastic bags and bake in the oven for 30-45 minutes.
  • Let sit and cool before removing loaves from the pans.
  • Cut, eat, enjoy!

My family and I really enjoyed our Bolo de Rei this year. It makes for great toast, however you like it. And it was a unique addition to the big family breakfast. And an even tastier way to wrap up the Christmas holiday season.

Do you have any end of the holiday traditions? Share in the comments to keep our traditions going.