When we hear about doughnuts today most of us probably think of the sweet treats sold at stores like Dunkin’ D, or maybe DD, or even at our local grocery in the bakery section. They are sold singly, or by the dozen, with so many toppings you often feel that you often have more frostings or stuffings than you have actual doughnut. Many only have them with coffee or hot tea.

But these are not the donuts that I’m talking about. My donuts are those made on occasion by my late paternal grandmother many years ago. My grandmother, Martha Jane Truitt Fryman, passed away in 1962 when I was ten years old. We lived next door to my grandfather and her for about seven or eight of my young years and she babysat for me when my parents weren’t home. Even so, my memories of her are quite few.

Two of the fondest and most clear were that if I wasn’t a good boy (fat chance) she would get out her black belt and use it on me and the donuts she made a few times each year. She never needed that black belt. In truth I never saw it as often as I searched. The threat was enough to keep me in line.

But the donuts were different, and I loved them each time. Even though I was young and had no interest in cooking or being in the kitchen, when donuts were fixed, I watched and waited intently. Even today, I often wonder if the method has been lost to our demand for convenience and sweetness.

The recipe was simple. One opened a can of simple biscuits from the local store. Each biscuit was stretched in to bit larger circle and then the thumb or a finger was used to make a hole in the center. They were then deep-fried in a large pot of hot lard (never cooking oil or butter) until they were browned. Then the browned donuts were dropped in a brown, paper grocery sack which held a mixture of sugar and cinnamon, the only coating ever used. The sack was shaken quite well giving the donut a slightly sweet coating, all that was needed. The finished donuts were then placed on a plate to cool.

For me as a child the cooling took far too long, but the one donut treat I received was always a great reward for the wait. I always remember that the fresh donuts never came often enough but the memory of them sounds great even today.

Why she made these donuts, so good, I never knew. I suspect they were for my grandfather to have with his lunch when working on the nearby rice farms. I’m sure they were much appreciated in those days when farm work was largely manual, not mechanized, and summer temperatures were high.

I wish that I could have told my grandmother how much these donuts meant to me, how hard it was to wait for the next batch, and how I remember them so many days later. Perhaps she can look down on me from her final home and see this short memory of things so simple yet so wonderful.