Fritter the Time Away

I was working furiously at the stove Saturday morning when Lois came home from the gym.  The first thing she said was, "Why does the house smell like a carnival?"  Then she saw me with a pot of hot oil on the burner and piles of fried dough all around me. 

"What are you making?" she wanted to know. 
"Apple fritters!" I replied brightly, knowing that my vegan, works out every morning, healthy wife would not approve.  I thought I'd have been finished and already devouring them with our two sons by the time Lois got home.  I still had half a bowl of uncooked batter. 

She looks at the recipe on the counter.  "This says it serves eight people!" 
"Yeah, about that.  See, I thought it meant that it made eight little fritters.  So I doubled it."
"You're frying up apple fritters meant to serve sixteen people?"
"Well... yes."
"There are three of you." 
"I know."

About 20 minutes later Lois comes back to the kitchen to find me still frying and the piles around me had grown to mountains.  I put Rocky to work drizzling a sugary glaze over about a fourth of the fritters.  "Are you planning to feed the boys anything else for breakfast?"
"Um.  Yes?"  I briefly consider pointing out that there are apples in the fritters, but I know how that conversation would go. 

Around this time Buzz stumbles sleepily into the kitchen.  "What's for breakfast?" 
Rocky answers, "Look how many fritters Dad is making!"
"Oh man, that is awesome!"
I'm sure Lois is giving me a particular look at this point, but I'm focused on flipping the last batch of fritters and trying not to smile as the boys laugh at the absurdity of so much fried food that they ordinarily would only be permitted to eat as a dessert, certainly not for a meal. 

While I put fritters on three plates, Lois cooks a bowl of oatmeal for herself.  I quickly peel three bananas and put one on each plate next to the fried dough to make it a well balanced breakfast. 

By the time we've eaten all we want, the leftovers are still considerable.  I carefully stack over half of the surplus on a sturdy paper plate and quickly head out the door to a neighbor's house.  When I get back, Lois has kindly done most of the cleanup and put the remaining fritters into tupperware.  She gives me a look I can't quite comprehend and then says, "Okay, I tried one while you were gone and it was so good, and I am so mad at you!"  This was by far the best compliment I could have received. 

Cooking delicious, unhealthy foods has become something of a hobby for me.  I guess it doesn't have to be unhealthy, but vegetables just seem so much more interesting when they're sautéd in butter, deep fried, or smothered in a cheese sauce.   

Ree Drummond, aka The Pioneer Woman whose recipe I used for this morning's hijinks, has become one of my culinary heroes.  Everything of hers I've cooked such as biscuits and gravy and chicken pot pie have become instant favorites of the three non-vegans in the family. 

Fortunately I only cook these kinds of things every once in a while, and Lois is diligent in making sure we all get plenty of foods that will be less likely to cause a heart attack.  That's just one of the many reasons we are meant to be together.  And it just happens to be one of the many reasons I will not feel the least bit guilty when I try out a recipe I found for fried chicken that has you marinate the meat in buttermilk overnight.  This is gonna be good.