by Becca Bloom
Letting her out, I made quick time of slicking my hair back in a ballerina bun and dressing in comfortable clothes for a long day of doughnut making. The power was still out. Resigning myself to the arm workout of a lifetime, I went downstairs, expecting a mostly empty kitchen.
Sylvia was at the stove, brushing an egg white mixture over the tops of her empanadas.
Tia Rosa held Abuelita's shirt to keep her from falling inside the giant mixing bowl of the industrial-sized mixture. Abuelita shouted something, to which Tia Rosa responded by pulling on Abuelita with all her might to extract her sister.
Flipping one end of the towel over her shoulder, Abuelita smacked her hands together, looked at me contentedly, and said, "Is clean. You use."
If only. I hated to break it to them if they'd come this far without realizing we still had no electricity, but it was awfully sweet of them to clean the mixer for me. Before I could think how to thank them, the refrigerator hummed.
"How?" I asked, pointing at the refrigerator.
And that's when Jake stood. He'd been tucked away behind the mixer, wedged between the wall, the giant bowl, and Tia Rosa. He had a gas can in his hand, which he carefully moved around the bowl and set next to the door.
Abuelita explained. "Jake have generator. You use mixer and fryer."
Tia Rosa said excitedly, "I fry for you!"
"What about your table, Tia Rosa?" I asked. She couldn't cook worth beans, but she had proved herself to be an expert fryer.
She waved her hand at me. "You no worry. I be fine. I have good idea." Not an ounce of worry squinted or lined her owlish eyes.
Feeling overwhelmed with relief, I put my cool hands over my warm cheeks. "Wow. Thank you all so much."
"Save me a coconut doughnut and we're even," Jake grinned, revealing the gap between his front teeth and his perfect dimples. I was glad my face was already flushed or I'd have turned rosy pink then.
"Done." Looking around the room, I asked, "Any other requests?"
Sylvia said, "I'll get what I want during the fair."
Tia Rosa patted her round stomach. "I too fat. I do diet."
Abuelita scoffed. "You do diet today? No is time for diet."
Pushing her glasses up her nose, Tia Rosa scrunched up her face at her sister. "You always tell me fat. Now I do the diet and you say is no good. You is impossible, Bertha."
"You fat, yes, but we only have the doughnut when Jessica here. When Jessica leave, no more doughnut. You do the diet then." Abuelita turned to me. "You stay, is better."
"To feed your sugar addiction? You'd blame me when you get diagnosed with diabetes or something." I tried to sound as gruff as she did, but it actually felt nice she wanted me to stay. Even if it was just for the treats I could make.
"You stay, yes?" asked Tia Rosa.
"I'm already staying an extra month. I'll make them again."
"You make the baby banana cakes?" Abuelita asked.
"I thought you hated bananas. You gave me no end of grief when I put them in the batter."
She shrugged one shoulder. "I no like banana, but I eat them in the baby cake." Then her face lit up and she pointed her finger into my arm. "You see? You make me eat good, health food."
"You have baby cake for spinach?" asked Tia Rosa, contorting her face as if she had a mouthful of the distasteful vegetable. "I no like spinach."
I laughed. "I bet your mother had to hide vegetables in your food when you were little. I don't have anything for spinach, but I have a fantastic zucchini bread recipe."
They looked at me incredulously.
"Zucchini? Is joke?" Abuelita asked.
I returned their astonished look. Zucchini bread was a staple in my family. I had a version to please every member and their dietary restrictions. And I liked all of them. I couldn't believe Abuelita and Tia Rosa hadn't even heard of it. It was a problem that needed fixed. "I'll make it next. When things calm down. I think you'll like it. I’ll make my favorite version with extra chocolate chips."
Now, they looked at me like I was crazy.
Abuelita said, “She talk with dog like is a person. She drink coffee with spoon and no sugar. She eat zucchini with chocolate. You weird.”
“Quirky is a better word,” said Jake on his way out the door. “I’ll check on the generator after lunch, but you should be fine until the transformer is repaired. I saw some guys from the power plant out there on my way here.”
He’d called me quirky. Quirky was good, right? I hoped.
Sylvia kissed him on the cheek, then rubbed off the lipstick mark she’d left behind. “Let me feed you lunch. We’ll all need a breather about then.”
Fernanda and Martha arrived then. It was time to get to work with the first round of dough.
Abuelita went back to her side of the kitchen, scooping spoonfuls of filling into the waiting empanada shells and sealing them with a fork while Sylvia checked the oven.
I turned on the radio, searching for a station offering happy music. When Journey's anthem of self-belief tuned in, I left it there. I needed as much inspiration as I could get. If the city boy and small town girl could make it, well, then, so could I.
I looked at my recipe. I'd adjusted the ingredients to make two super-sized batches, which, I hoped would yield around two thousand doughnuts. Math had never been my strong suit, but I'd gone over the numbers several times. I couldn't get the same wrong answer seven times in a row, so I figured we were good.
Martha pushed in a tall, bakery rack with empty, glistening sheets ready to be covered in hundreds of dough circles.
Fernanda explained, "Mom asked her boss if we could borrow one of these for the day and he was happy to oblige."
I clapped my hands, thrilled at how much room the rack would save us in the kitchen. It was perfect.
Giving Martha a hug, I told her, "Gracias. Es perfecto," happy I could express myself at least a little bit.
We set to work to the tune of the best hits of the eighties and nineties. The mixer worked like a marvel, slowly and steadily. It didn't overheat the motor or struggle to turn the dough hook.
While the dough rose, we mixed the icings and glazes, setting them next to their garnish accompaniment. By then, the dough had doubled in size and it was time for my favorite part.
Taking the plastic wrap off the top of the mixer, I asked, "Who wants to do the honors?"
Martha knew what I meant. When no one else stepped forward, she wadded up her fist and punched the dough as hard as she could, jabbing it over and over again.
Abuelita smiled. "I do next, okay?"
"Not if I get to it first," said Fernanda. She looked at her mother with a whole new level of respect. "Go, Mom!" she cheered.
Martha said something, which made everyone laugh. Man, I needed to study more. Once I found a new teacher. The Santorinis scared me.
Fernanda translated. "She said she pretended it was my father."
I joined in their good humor. Any man who deserted a hard-working woman with five children, letting them go without when he could have helped, deserved a swing or two.
We'd rolled out the dough, cut the circles, and set them on the racks for their final rising when Edgar showed up with the mayor.
The mayor flashed his bright white smile, clearly pleased at what he saw. The kitchen must have smelled divine. I'd probably smell like yeast and frying oil for days. There were worse things.
"I'm ready to set up the table," said Edgar. He had come prepared with several family-sized packets of napkins, tongs for serving, a notepad, and a calculator … among other things I couldn’t see through the plastic of the shopping bags he carried.
The mayor replied, "And that is precisely what I have come for. Your assigned tables are numbers four, five, and six. They're located directly in front of the restaurant in the park."
Tia Rosa said, "It no start for one hour more, yes?"
She breathed a sigh of relief when he checked his watch and nodded. "That's correct."
&nb
sp; "Good. I help fry first doughnuts, then I go."
That was fine with me. Adi would be down soon to help serve the customers, leaving Fernanda to help me with the glazes and Martha to fry. We were all set. Abuelita and Sylvia had their empanadas well underway, as well as extra help with their waitresses. The only one I worried about was Tia Rosa.
"Are you sure you can stay? Do you have enough help?" I asked her.
She rubbed her hands together with a large smile. "I have special treat. I so exciting!"
I wanted to believe her, but it was hard not to be skeptical knowing how her talents did not include anything outside frying and dish-washing in the kitchen.
Tia Rosa grabbed my hand, her face serious. "Thank you for worry, Jessica. But I okay. I fantastic! I do good today, yes? We all do good!" She squeezed my hand, then let go to pat my cheek just like my grandma, my Mammy, always did.
Martha went outside to the booth with Edgar and the mayor. They gestured and planned until their voices faded through the dining room. I was grateful for their help. The more I could hole myself up here in the kitchen, the better.
Chapter 19
An hour later, I looked in admiration at the hundreds of colorful, puffy doughnuts and doughnut holes spread over trays in the bread rack. They were beautiful.
"You're an artist with glaze," I said to Fernanda.
A hint of a smile creased her lips. Anything more than that she would have considered un-cool.
The mixer was finally empty of dough, and it was time to fill it up again. Tossing another batch of ingredients inside, I switched it on the lowest setting and turned my attention to the pretty doughnuts before me while the antique machine did its work.
"Do you think we have enough?" asked Fernanda in her droll voice.
Surrounded as we were by doughnuts, it was difficult to imagine we'd run out. "I think so. The next batch will be ready in a few hours. This should tide us through until then."
"You think?" Her voice dripped in sarcasm. "How many did you say you planned to make?"
"Two thousand."
"Math wasn't your best subject in school, was it?"
I didn't bother to give her an answer. I'd struggled with math, but she didn't need it confirmed by me. So long as we had enough doughnuts to offer for the fundraiser, what did it really matter? Unless she was worried we didn't have enough. I'd fallen into such a routine of mixing, rolling, and cutting, I’d lost count long ago.
Adi looked at her watch. "It's time to go outside. Tia Rosa, can I help you carry some of your things out to your booth?"
Tia Rosa handed Adi four plastic bags — the same ones I'd seen her with the night before — and she pulled out a pink tool box and a canvas bag which she carried. What on earth was she up to? I hadn't seen her mix anything or use the stove in any way.
Martha came in from outside to take Tia Rosa's place at the fryer, Edgar following her. They both smiled widely when they saw the trays of strawberry sprinkle, coconut, chocolate swirl, and double-dipped glazed doughnuts.
"I'll start getting these outside," he said, balancing two trays. "People are already gathering, waiting to see what we have to offer. We're going to do well today."
Abuelita eyed the platters, carrying two of her own brimming with empanadas out the front of the restaurant to her booth in the park.
"Not if Abuelita gets to them first," teased Fernanda.
I looked back at the mixer and checked the softness of the dough. It was perfect. It was time to get back to work. Martha had another batch ready to glaze, and she, Fernanda, and I soon fell into a steady rhythm. Edgar came in several times over the next couple of hours for refills of his trays, and we were able to fill them every time. I just kept my head down, my hands alternating between the roller and the cutter, filling the bread trays level by level, and trusting Martha to know when to fry the doughy circles.
I lost track of time until Sylvia ordered us to pause long enough to eat a couple of her empanadas with a tall glass of cold juice for lunch.
"It's already noon? Gracious, today is flying by." I fanned my face with a limp napkin.
All of our faces were red from the heat of the ovens and the fryer in the kitchen. I hadn't felt it until now, but it was stifling.
I heard squeals and laughter in the backyard. "Is someone outside with Lady?" I asked.
Fernanda scoffed at me. "You were in the zone. We only had a babysitter until noon, so my brothers and sisters are playing in the back with the dog. Sylvia already fed them."
"Do you think your mom would mind if I gave them each a doughnut?" I asked, feeling guilty my focus had made me miss so much.
Handing out doughnuts wrapped in a generous amount of napkins to wipe off the sticky they were certain to line their mouths with, I enjoyed the cool breeze outside. It was as hot as Hades inside the kitchen.
Lady raced around, barking contentedly. She was one happy puppy with all the attention she was getting. What a pity her previous owners had neglected her so badly. She was a well-behaved dog and she didn't do anything when the smallest toddler grabbed her ears or leaned on her. Lady stood there patiently, nudging the baby with her nose as if she were encouraging her to run as fast as she did.
As much as the breath of fresh air had benefited me, it would help Martha and Fernanda. I suggested as much when I got back inside.
"The dough is on its last rise. I can fry a couple batches and manage the glazes while you guys take a break. It would be a pity to be stuck inside all day and not see any of the displays and booths in the park," I added when they hesitated to budge.
Martha looked at her watch, then lifted it up for me to see. Tapping the top of the hour, she drew a half circle with her finger.
I think I understood her, but Fernanda confirmed it. "She said we'll be back in no more than a half an hour. Then, it's your turn to go out."
That was fine with me. As they left, leaving Sylvia and I alone in the kitchen, I pulled out Diego's card. I needed a receipt, but I hoped he could have it ready so I'd have enough time to swing by during my break. Checking the oil temperature, and seeing I had enough time to make a quick call, I dialed his shop’s number.
A woman answered. It must be his sister.
I asked for Diego, not wanting him to get into any trouble by selling me a part on the condition I may or may not need it later.
"Hey, this is Diego," he said.
"Hi, Diego, this is Jessica. Thank you so much for letting me take that part home. It was just what I needed, and everything's up and running smoothly now."
Edgar walked through the swinging door with two empty trays. I motioned for him to wait just a moment while Diego expressed his happiness to be of help.
"I'm busy helping with the fundraiser in the park today, but I have a break coming up soon. Do you think you can write out a receipt for me and have it ready? I won't have a lot of time—"
"I can do better than that," Diego interrupted. "I can drop it off at your booth. I'm dying to get outside and see what's going on anyway."
"That would be perfect. If I'm not at the booth, then I'm at Abuelita's restaurant in the back. I'll hear you if you knock on the swinging door to the kitchen."
That taken care of, I hung up the phone to help Edgar wash off the trays and switch them before beginning the next batch of doughnuts.
"Have you had lunch yet, Edgar?" asked Sylvia.
"Oh yes, thank you. I walked around the booths and got so many samples from the different tables, I'm still full. You should go out and see it for yourself. Tia Rosa, especially, is … creative."
"Creative good? Or creative not-so-good?" I asked, flipping the dough I’d eased into the fryer.
Edgar grinned. "You'll just have to see for yourself. She's quite the sensation and I think Abuelita is a little grumpy that she's doing as well as she is. Oh, and I have more good news."
"What's that?" Sylvia and I asked in unison.
"It looks like I got a new job. There's a new ice cream shop op
ening up and they need people with experience. I talked with the owner and I start as a manager this Monday."
"That's fantastic! Congratulations!" said Sylvia.
I removed the doughnuts from the oil, holding the basket up for them to drain. "That calls for celebration! Have you had a doughnut yet?"
"I've been so busy, I haven't had one yet, but they look delicious."
"What flavor do you want?" I asked, setting the fresh doughnuts on the island to cool enough to frost.
Edgar looked over the counter. "I don't think I can decide. They all look good."
"Then, you'll have to sample each of them." I plucked a sampler of doughnut holes in every flavor and placed them on a napkin. One of them threatened to roll off the napkin, but he caught it in time.
He started with strawberry. The heat in the kitchen had added extra height to the dough, making the holes large enough to require at least two large bites.
As I'd hoped he would, Edgar closed his eyes and moaned. "Mmm. These are the best."
I moved things around and, in his desire to help, we ended up dropping an unglazed doughnut hole on the floor. We both reached for it and nearly upended an entire tray. "I'm so sorry," Edgar said, rubbing his head where he'd smacked against the top of the island.
"Don't worry. It happens, just promise me you won't try to help if I dump another doughnut ball on the floor and we're good." I tossed the problematic ball into the trash and checked the fryer, clearing more space on the counter to make room.
"I'd better get these trays out of your way," Edgar polished off his second doughnut hole, carefully wrapping the remaining two in his hand like they were precious treasures.
"I'll be outside in a few more minutes. As soon as Fernanda and Martha come back. I can't wait to see what Tia Rosa has done." And I’d probably better check out my own booth. I hadn’t even seen it yet.
Edgar backed out of the kitchen, his arms loaded with more doughnuts to sell. Wow, two thousand doughnuts was a lot. I wouldn't be in a great hurry to ever attempt so many again.
