Beans and Beignets

When I was a kid there was this farm a few towns over that used to sell fresh doughnuts on the weekends. Honestly, I can't say that I remember them all that well, but I do remember that it was exciting when we used to go get some-we could watch them come off the machine hot and fresh and then get dipped in cinnamon sugar. And then one day they sold the property and had to close the farmstead and doughnut operation. My family stood on line for over an hour the last weekend to get some of the last doughnuts that they would ever make. So I was excited to learn that the beignet culture in Cameroon was still strong and there are beignet mamas to be found in all of the villages that I've ever been to.

One of the first people that I befriended in my neighborhood was the woman who sells beans and beignets (and fried fish, but I have no plans to ever buy it) up the road from my house. And although I don't patronize her shack as often as she might like, I pass her on my way home each evening and she's always friendly and quick to greet me. And as I mentioned in an earlier post, Mama Marguerite is always generous with her dashes, giving most customers an additional beignet (or puff-puff for the Anglophones out there). So a few weeks ago I asked her if she would be willing to teach me how to fry beignets, and she readily agreed. I reminded her of this yesterday, and she told me that I could come and learn from her this evening. But she took our lesson a step further, and invited me to come help her make the beignet batter in the afternoon at the church where she lives. I showed up not knowing what to expect-I've seen quite the spectrum of kitchens and food preparation in this country so far. But the kitchen was reasonably clean and she seemed to have a pretty set process for her preparations. As she was setting up I learned that she's been selling beignets for the past seven years, so it makes sense that she has the whole process down by now. Most of the preparation had already been done by the time I arrived, but she quickly put me to work mixing the dough. And we put the phrase "made by hand" to a whole new level-I mixed the dough using most of my arm as the mixing spoon. She makes a lot of beignets and the batter took up almost half of the (smallish) garbage-sized barrel that I was mixing it in.

But the real fun began after we brought the supplies halfway down the hill to her little shop. She had a herd of small boys that helped us carry everything down and get set up. One of them made a dirt/water mortar to rub on the bottom of the frying bowl-I think it protects the bowl from the flames, but I'm not sure on that one. Mama Marguerite started the first batch of oil, and demonstrated how to quickly throw a spoonful of pancake batter (she has quite the array of products) into the oil so it sits right. My first few attempts were a little too cautious and resulted in small circular pancakes (silver dollars, if you will). At this point, a few people had wandered past and remarked on the oddity of seeing me in the hut trying my hand at frying. I've been living in my neighborhood for just about two months now and it seems like most of the people that live in the area are aware of my presence here, as I don't exactly look Cameroonian. So my new role as beignet assistant was quite entertaining, especially as I struggled to deliver the perfectly circular beignets they've come to expect. I watched Mama Marguerite a few times and wanted to try it myself, but it was a serious strugglefest. Dropping beignets into hot oil is a tricky business, and involves "cutting" little drops of dough out of a goopy fistful by squeezing batter through the hole between your thumb and forefinger. And of course, it's not as easy as it looks. None of my beignets were the same size, nor were they round or smooth. Most of my creations were lumpy, oversized, and the customers looked at them with surprise. Mama Marguerite was quick assure everyone that I had made them and was obviously still learning. But as the evening went on I slowly improved. My beignets began to resemble their more ordered counterparts, and although they weren't exactly right, they were at least passable. I ended my stint as a beignet-maker with a healthy respect for the craft and the knowledge that my talents lie elsewhere. But it was a chance to interact with my neighbors in a different setting and give them the opportunity for them to see me try something new. And even though my time selling beignets was even shorter than my time selling bagels, it wasn't a bad way to spend a Sunday evening. Now I just have to get the batter out of my clothes.

TL, DR: I spent the afternoon making and selling beignets with my local beignet maman. My beignets were kind of a mess, but it was fun to spend the afternoon trying something new and getting to know more of my neighbors. And they all had a good laugh at my expense.