Un jour à Annecy !


What I love about French cities and villages is their charm. All of them! So charming. The rooftops are always so quaint and the architecture stunning. The other thing? It’s pretty consistent here- there’s no random pockets of modernity. I hate that.

Two Sundays ago we travelled to Annecy, a city a bit north of Grenoble. There are farmers markets on Sunday mornings, where you can find the most exquisite produce. The colors are the most vibrant I’ve ever seen; it’s like a drawing. A good Vermeer still-life. There’s also local honey, candies, and anything you can imagine. It’s really magnificent. Unfortunately, I didn’t buy anything because I had no change. They seem to be particular about exact change here, and I didn’t think they would fancy me paying for a small 5€ of strawberries with a 50€ bill. Oh well. But, I won’t be forgetting the strawberries any time soon- they are vividly ingrained in my mind.


We ate lunch at a restaurant called Le Freti and it was magnifique! The restaurant specializes in something called raclette, in which half a cheese wheel is melted by a large heating lamp. It’s poured on potatoes and is incredibly divine.


After lunch we took a boat ride around Annecy Lake. It was very picturesque, and I saw two châteaux. One of them had been in the same family for…27 generations or something crazy like that.

We ended the day with…guess…yep, a stop at a pâtisserie. A pâtisserie that has, apparently, won the world championship of pastry?! It’s called Roses de Neige and is quite pink. I, personally, was tickled pink by all the pink.

Our next trip is to Arles and Camargue, two villages in southern France.

A bientôt!


Ce que j’adore des villes française, c’est qu’elles sont très très charmantes. Toutes ! Les tuiles sont toujours jolies et l’architecture est vraiment belle et surtout consistante. Moi, je déteste les villes aux Etats-Unis où l’architecture n’est pas consistante. A mon avis, c’est moche.

La dimanche dernière nous sommes allés à Annecy, une ville au nord de Grenoble. Les dimanches matins, il y a un marché fermier ou on peut acheter les beaux produits frais et vif, la charcuterie, le miel, les bonbons, tout ce qu’on peut imaginer. C’est vraiment magnifique ! Malheureusement, je n’ai rien acheté parce que je n’ai pas du tout de la monnaie- et en France, on aime beaucoup la monnaie exact, de laquelle que je n’ai pas. Tant pis. Mais je ne vais jamais oublier les fraises que j’ai vues- elles étaient rouges vives- incroyable.


Nous avons déjeuné au restaurant s’appelle Le Freti qui se spécialise en la raclette. J’adore la raclette; ça c’était la première fois que j’en ai eu et c’était délicieux. On a fondu une extrêmement grande demie-roulette du fromage et on l’a mangé avec des pommes de terre et de la charcuterie. Miam !

Après avoir déjeuné, nous avons pris un bateau sur le Lac Annecy. C’était incroyable- les grandes montagnes, l’eau turquoise, pas beaucoup des nuages… wow. Sur une des montagnes, il y a un grand château qui est très joli. Je crois que la même famille l’a gardé pour 27 générations !


Nous avons terminé le voyage avec un arrêt à… devinez… bien sûr, une pâtisserie s’appelle Rose des Neiges. Vraiment jolie, très rose, sur une petite rue.

Et voilà. Annecy était merveilleuse, et j’ai hâte de voir plus de la France !


Bonjour de Grenoble !


Bonjour tout le monde !

Je suis à Grenoble où je m’inscrit à l’Université de Grenoble-Alpes CUEF. Si tu veux recevoir des mises à jours, inscrivez-vous ici:


Je continuerai à écrire sur le blog, mais pas assez souvent.

Hi everyone!

I am in Grenoble studying at the University of Grenoble-Aples CUEF. If you want little updates, click the link above.

I’ll still write on the blog, but not as often.


Yellowstone Part 2

I felt so small.

On the edge of the forest, standing in the gravel, in the pitch black, shivering as the night air brushed by, I looked up.

Sparkling stars sprinkled the dark canvas, which was rendered a royal purple by the soft, delicate splash of cream.

The Milky Way.


I inhaled the soft scent of pine and grass, and the gravel crunched between my toes as I tugged the blanket tighter around me. I savored the silence, drinking in the vast skies, a feast, a symphony for the eyes. This is what wonder feels likes.


You are confronted with vastness, you acknowledge your smallness, and you accept both.   You are unable to comprehend the sheer beauty that engulfs you, but you allow it to consume you and quiet you.


The colors are vivid, as vibrant and intense as a Friedrich painting, but no photograph does any scene justice. The paintings, even, are shamed by the experience of seeing the golden light peek between the trees at sunset; the lake awash in pink, champagne mist at sunrise; and the endless valleys and plateaus flooded with regal trees and feathery grass.


The waters hush you, the waterfalls spray violently, and the rivers flow and bubble exuberantly; hot springs run down the mountains, joining the rivers.


And, despite the fact that it is summer, the thunder rolls and the clouds darken; lighting  fires and illuminates the mountains in the distance. It rains the refreshing, romantic, out-of-place rain that makes you want to dance joyfully in the meadow, arms open wide and hair flying.


You close your eyes, take a breath, say goodbye, and know that somehow, you’ll be back.


Yellowstone Part 1

Snake River facing Grand Teton

The airport, which probably qualified as an oversized ranch, was so small only three airlines serviced it. There were no jetways; instead, travelers were greeted by open sky, a soft breeze, the majestic Teton Mountains, and no cell service. The town of Jackson, with a population just under 10,000, was nestled in the valley of Jackson Hole, eight miles south. The size of the sign indicating the airport’s presence was about as large as a generously-sized agenda. No words, just the symbol of an airplane quietly pointing the way.

Forest in the Upper Geyser Basin near Old Faithful

There were blue skies, open plains, and forest as far as the eye could see. Cars, like the intermittent lost ant, occasionally sped down the highway at a leisurely pace of 55 mph. The national elk refuge and Grand Teton National Park left scant room for any roots of civilization. It was quiet, and you could think.  From Jackson to Yellowstone was 76 miles, depending on the destination within the park, but there would have hardly been enough time to soak in the splendor of the landscape, which was occasionally dotted with bison.

Pool in Upper Geyser Basin

Each scene was a painting, as heavily-saturated colors burst forth and created a serene masterpiece for the eyes and heart. The green of the plants, the oranges of the sulfur, the incredibly deep blues of the water; they all sang with incomparable beauty. It was a place that shouldn’t exist, but miraculously does.

Dry riverbed at Gros Ventre Junction

On a chilly, early morning, the sun softly kissed the rocks of a dry riverbed. The water flowed, sparkling and chiming, a few yards away. It was crisp and sharp, so clean that you could see the rocks beneath. If you closed your eyes and listened, the most brilliant symphony played as nature slowly, though not lazily, awakened.

Sapphire-colored water at Upper Geyser Basin

Wonder is such a sensational, singular emotion, felt in solitude, but always shared. There never seem to be words to communicate the sense of beauty, joy, and peace that envelope us as we become small and grace becomes big.

River at Upper Geyser Basin

And we wandered, slowly, drinking in the serenity.

Muir Woods + Marin Headlands


This week I did something I swore never to do: I drove on the side of a cliff. Maybe I’m exaggerating a little bit, but I’m telling you, Highway 1 is not the safest road you could be driving. Deep curves, steep roads, and sometimes no guardrail…several times I envisioned accidentally driving off and tumbling into the abyss below. Needless to say, I drove under the speed limit. And, I didn’t care if the car behind me was judging. No Marissa pancakes today, please.


The last time I was in Muir Wood was maybe 10-ish years ago, and I’ve never been to Marin Headlands. I’ve heard a lot about the Headlands, but they’re a bit far and honestly I’m somewhat against driving anywhere more than 20 miles from my house. But, Squaw was here, so there’s the exception. If it weren’t for her, I definitely would not have gone, because going alone is almost certain death. Both lovely national parks are, unsurprisingly, without cell reception. That means no GPS, and frankly I’m surprised that we made it out of both places without being horridly lost.


Once we arrived, however, scenery was worth the near death and destruction. Marin Headlands has a handful of trails, and we ended up on one near a beach. Which beach, I don’t know, because I’m incompetent when it comes to paper-map reading, but it was the most dramatic scene. Karl the Fog had decided to roll in, shrouding the view. But, you could hear the waves lapping gently and the wind whipping. Despite the lack of view of the Bay, the Headlands themselves are something to look at, a quiet and peaceful respite from the smog, dirt, and grime of the city.


After bumbling our way back to 101 North, we survived parallel parking and waltzed into Muir Woods. I had forgotten how grand the redwoods are, majestically towering into the sky. Beauty and grace are so evident in the vast trees, trickling of the streams, and hushed, wooded paths. Sometimes I forget that these places still exist, but it’s undeniably peaceful when you inhale the gentle sent of moss and earth and listen to the stillness.


{Review} The Brutal Telling by Louise Penny

6449551If you’ll recall, I sped-read Louise Penny’s A Great Reckoning during spring semester in order to write an arts review for class. Since then, I had tucked her away in my mind with a note to read more of her books.

While perusing the table of books at Costco a couple weeks ago, as I am wont to do, I stumbled across her again, and being my very cheap self, took a photo of the cover as a reminder to borrow it from the library. The Brutal Telling is the fifth book in Penny’s  Armand Gamache series, and A Great Reckoning the most recent. In fact checking that statement, I just discovered that a new Gamache novel, Glass Houses, will be published in August!

While only my second Inspector Gamache novel, I can already tell that Penny has a penchant for incorporating themes of secrets, truth, and façades. I admire the consistency, and she does it well, all whilst weaving in minor themes, notes, and commentary that, although not the focus, draw an acute attention to themselves.

The discovery of a body in Olivier’s bistro in Three Pines, Quebec rattles the tiny, welcoming village. Instantly, all are plunged into an unfamiliar world of secrets and brutality. As the blame constantly shifts and lies create a façade, it seems that more questions will be created than answered. It begs the question of what is more dangerous: the truth, or the comfortable walls that conceal it?

As the case drags out, Olivier’s past is unearth in a brutal telling, revealing an insecure, greedy man hidden behind the generous, well-loved bistro owner the villagers have come to adore. But, while his secrets are revealed, the process also raises an important question about how we love: conditionally or unconditionally? Do we have the power, or more importantly, the will, to love unconditionally? What are the boundaries? How far will we go when we feel someone we love has betrayed our trust?

All the while, Clara’s about to receive the artistic recognition of her dreams…until her agent makes an ugly remark about her friend, Gabri, Olivier’s partner. As Clara wrestles with her conscience and swings between silence, safety, and acceptance; and courage, risk, and dignity; she must decide how important it is to stand up for friends and family. Is it worth sacrificing her dream to defend her friends and stand up for what she believes is right?

And, remarkably, there is the entrance of a rookie Sûreté agent, Paul Morin, whose courage, gusto, and willingness prove to us that there is much more than what meets the eye. Sometimes, we must stand out from the crowd, withstand the ridicule, and put ourselves out there. If we want our dreams badly enough, we will weather the judgement, the laughter, and sometimes, disdain to prove ourselves and take the risk. In Inspector Gamache, he continues to testify to the power of kindness to strangers, colleagues, and friends.

In regards to A Great ReckoningThe Brutal Telling was lacking somewhat in character development. We see the struggles of Olivier, Clara, Peter, and others, but few come to favorable resolutions, if any at all. Instead, the issues are suspended, perhaps to be continued in the next book, perhaps to be laid to rest.


Berry Pavlova


I have spent the last two weeks as my mother’s main office minion, and therefore forwent Monday’s blog post. I beg forgiveness.

So, when I actually rummaged around the fridge, wondering what I should make, I remembered that I had too many egg whites in a Plentea bottle, nearly forgotten from the time I had made Audrey’s chocolate cake and used 16 egg yolks. Not all of the whites survived because there were some broken yolks, but by the time I was finished experimenting I still had around 6-8. They remained hidden in the fridge until I remembered them, which is actually ok because old egg whites will whip up better.

I passed sophomore year under the tutelage of Fred, baking-boy extraordinaire, and picked up a thing or two hanging around him whilst he created his edible masterpieces. Mostly how to be creative and fun in the kitchen. So, this normally plain-Jane whipped out all the stops, as in, this project took me three days to complete. And, there’s rose water involved, just for kicks.


First, we’re going to make the meringue. Egg whites and sugar are whisked in a double boiler to pasteurize the eggs. This is swiss-style meringue. Italian meringue is made by pouring boiling sugar syrup into egg whites whilst simultaneously whipping them at high speed. I feel that swiss meringue is a bit safer. Everything is cooked, and then whipped. No splattering 300-degree syrup. Using a piping tip and bag, create meringue bowls. The size is up to you.

This recipe could easily be made in one afternoon. While the meringues are crisping in the oven, start on the coulis. Coulis is a plant sauce; fruit is usually used for dessert, vegetables for savory dishes. Our farmer friends sent us strawberries, and as the fruit was looking overly ripe, I decided to make strawberry coulis, but any berry will do. If you want the coulis to set a bit, add some gelatin, or agar agar if you prefer.

Finally, whip the cream—by hand if you’re brave—and add a teaspoon of rose water. Don’t be tempted to pour in more; rose water is, while floral and heady, exactly that. Too much, and it’ll probably smell like rotting roses. Yuck.


By this time the meringues should be high and dry. Try one. They are…ephemeral. Shatter the delicate shell, and it melts daintily in your mouth.

Choose a fun, swirly tip and transfer the whipped cream to a piping bag. Pipe generous swirls into the meringue bowls, topping with coulis and raspberries for decoration. Have some friends on had to help you eat the pavlova; I spent my afternoon frantically looking for takers. Cousin Ben will be saving the day.

Berry Pavlova


1 batch meringue

I based mine off of The Boy Who Bakes, doubling the proportions. You’ll have enough for little meringue cookies, too. Cut in half if you wish.

6 room-temperature egg whites (BUT! Always separate a cold egg to prevent the yolk from breaking)

Scant 2.5 (480g) cups sugar

  1. Preheat the oven to 225˚F. It is important that the temperature is precise! Meringue is very delicate and finicky.
  2. Using a hand or standing mixer, whip egg whites on high speed. When soft peaks begin to form, gradually add the sugar and whip until glossy and stiff. If you can hold the bowl over your head without dumping meringue on yourself, it’s ready.
  3. Using a piping bag and tip, pipe the meringue onto a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. The bowls should be approximately 3” wide. Start piping from the center of the circle, making your way outwards, and then slowly build up on the last ring, creating a wall approximately 2” high, or whatever you prefer.
  4. Bake for 1-2 hours, allowing the meringues to crisp, and then turn off the oven and let the meringues sit in the oven, allowing them to completely dry out.

Fruit Coulis

350g berries

0.25 cup water

3 tbsp sugar, or to taste

up to 0.25 tsp gelatin, to set

  1. In a saucepan, heat berries, water, and sugar until fruit becomes extremely soft. Gently mash with a spoon, breaking up the fruit. All the liquid to cook down; it should have the viscosity of smoothie.
  2. Pour the coulis through a sieve to remove seeds and skin. Allow to cool. Store in the fridge.

Whipped Cream

2 cups very cold heavy whipping cream

1 teaspoon rose water

sifted powdered sugar to taste (optional, and I’d just go by the tablespoon)

  1. Using a standing mixer, hand mixer, or your actual hand/arm, whip cream and rose water until soft peaks form. Begin adding sugar, a tablespoon at a time, tasting along the way. Stop whipping when stiff peaks form. Go too far, and you’ll have rose-water butter.



  1. Place whipped cream into a piping bag fitted with the tip of your choice. I used an Ateco 807.
  2. Pipe generous swirls of whipped cream into the meringue bowls. Drizzle with coulis and top with raspberries.
  3. Serve immediately, or, if you must, store in the fridge for a few hours.


Maialino’s Olive Oil Cake & Coconut-Lime Sorbet


This summer I have eaten many life-changing foods. Lamb chops, panna cotta, olive oil and balsamic, coconut lime sorbet… I must say, working in a cooking store really does open your eyes to all the food possibilities.

On the weekends, sometimes we’ll do a demo, and one of these weekends happened to be an ice cream demo! Can I get a HOORAY! ? And, as the title of this post suggests, the demo involved coconut lime sorbet. At first, I was skeptical. You would not be surprised to know that my favorite ice cream flavor is vanilla. Plane Jane, and I like it that way. But, as I am wont to do when I am in charge of a demo, I tasted it.

The bright, tart, citrus of the lime beautifully complimented (and was also mellowed by) the subtle, light, sweet coconut milk. The pairing worked, and I was surprised. Usually, if I want to be “adventurous,” I go for a fruit sorbet or chocolate ice cream. No toppings, no mix ins, and of course, no funky flavors. Ever. But, gosh darn, one taste of this sorbet and I was hooked! It took an obscene amount of self control to not eat all the samples. I feel like I should receive a medal or something for restraining myself.

A couple days later, I made Padre buy me some limes at the grocery store, and off I went to re-create the recipe. I used a little more cream than I ought to have, so it’s not essentially a sorbet, more like an ice cream.


What I discovered was that the cream really mellows out the lime, which I did not like. The recipe I present now cuts the amount of cream in half. But really, the cream is just there to help with the texture, not the flavor. Coconut milk and lime juice alone make for somewhat of an icy texture, so the cream smooths it out. At most, you should only require a fourth of a cup.

As far as the olive oil cake is concerned, about a year or two ago I was pursing Food52 and stumbled across a recipe for Maialino NYC’s olive oil cake. It was one of the site’s most popular recipes, next to the one for chocolate cake, which remains my go-to recipe, despite the number of blogs that I read the number of cookbooks I have amassed. The olive oil cake has been on my “to make” list for a while, and after being introduced to some mighty fine olive oils at the cooking store, I took the plunge, bought a bottle, and whipped up (in one bowl, no less), this cake.

If you do not like the taste of olive oil, you’d be better off with the sorbet alone, although you needn’t be a connoisseur to appreciate the cake. Savor the light fruitiness of the oil, and tight, soft crumb, and the delicate crust. Food52 describes the cake as almost pudding-like, and they’re about right. Try it, even if you feel skeptical. And if you do like it, don’t be Padre, who cut himself a hunk and crammed it in his mouth. That is not the proper way to enjoy such a dainty, delicate dessert.

Paired together, the cake and sorbet make a good match. I would, however, highly recommend adding the lime zest to the sorbet (I skipped this to save myself from washing another utensil) and scaling back on the cream. The coconut milk and olive oil combined really can overpower the lime. I admit, the strength of the olive oil and its ability to mask other flavors surprised me, as it is generally unassuming if you aren’t looking for it.


Here is the cake recipe. Instead of 1.25 cups of milk, you could substitute for 1 cup of creme fraîche. I did this because that is what I had on hand.

Coconut-Lime Sorbet

2.5 cups coconut milk

0.5 cup cream

0.25 cups lime juice

2 tbsp lime zest

1 cup sugar

  1. Make sure to freeze the ice cream bowl the night before, per manufacture’s instructions.
  2. Zest limes and place in a large bowl. Microwave limes in 10-second increments until slightly warm. Using the palm of your hand, roll limes on a hard surface to release the juice. Juice the limes and add juice to the bowl.
  3. Add cream, coconut milk, and sugar. Whisk to thoroughly combine. Pour into an ice cream maker and freeze per manufacture’s instructions. Approximately 20-30 minutes.
  4. Eat or freeze immediately.

Twin Peaks, San Francisco


In continuing with our mini California adventures, we chose to see what all the hype was about with Twin Peaks. Sadly, I have yet (yep, still) to figure out how to use Muni, which is the transportation system that mainly consists of buses and trolley cars from the 1930s… It’s not the most efficient thing to grace mankind, and I’m also just a bit lazy when it comes to figuring out public transportation, so that’s why I’ve never been to Twin Peaks before. It’s quite far from downtown.


Neither peaks are too peak-y. It’s an extremely brief climb up to the top, where you are graced with a serene panoramic view of a chaotic monstrosity. While googling “places to park at Twin Peaks,” I did find a fun fact, courtesy of San Francisco Recreation and Park: Spanish settlers called Twin Peaks “Los Pechos de la Choca.” Google the translation. Twin Peaks is second in height only to Mount Davidson, which measures 938 feet to the Peaks’ 922 feet. All of the bay is visible from the Peaks, and Mount Diablo towers in the distance.


As we observed the metropolis below, it sprawled out majestically before us, the Golden Gate sheathed in mist. Downtown SF seemed a doll’s world, in its proper place; the towering giants reduced to matchsticks, nothing from above.

Like slugs, the cargo ships chugged in the bay, and neatly, gridded, the city sits, waiting. Serenity is made of the chaos of the city, simply by observing it, instead of being in the throws of it.

As the monster is brought to its knees, you too, from your vantage point, forget your own smallness. Now you are the master of the city that lays at your feet. But you, like it, are destined to the same—to be blown away, into the sea


This is why I love cities. Not for being in the midst the unforgiving, threatening cityscape, but for the ability to observe the behemoth from a peaceful perch. It’s an idyllic scene, removed from the actual dirt, noise, and general unpleasantness that a city brings. It makes sense now, why people kept country homes. The city is overwhelming.

Ironically, as I made note of all of this, a garbage truck pulled up behind us, and the scent of rubbish wafted over our noses…

When you look at a city’s skyline, it’s akin to being awakened and seeing the glimmer of hope, adventure, and possibility. It’s romantic and dreamy, the compact arrangement, the geography laying before you. You feel on top of the world.


Twin Peaks

501 Twin Peaks Boulevard

San Francisco, 94114

Parking at the top




Cinnamon-Sugar Doughnuts


Three days ago, it was blisteringly hot outside and I was laying on my floor, trying not to die of heat stroke and to keep up with my Italian lesson. Dad waltzed in, and said, “DOUGHNUTS!”

“OOOOOOOO, really?” I exclaimed. I was down for a Krispy Kreme or two. “Downstairs?”

“Nope,” he grinned. “We’re gonna make ’em!”

I was skeptical at first, because doughnuts usually entail frying, and I am not the biggest fan of the processes. Honestly, a Krispy Kreme doughnut would have sufficed.


But, BOY OH BOY AM I GLAD THAT DAD HAD A DOUGHNUT EPIPHANY. These doughnuts are delicious. Sugar-y, soft, airy, slightly spiced with cinnamon. I have been looking for this brioche recipe for years. I exaggerate not. For the past few years, I have been enticed, mystified, and frustrated with the brioche recipes that I have tried. The crumb was too tight. It was a little dry. The dough didn’t rise as much as expected.

Zoe Nathan strikes again with her brioche and her doughnuts. I’ll be referring to this from now on. A note, though: This recipe requires overnight refrigeration. A good or bad thing, depending on how you look at it. Not great for procrastinating, forgetful, unplanned bakers (me), but great for everyone else. And if I could pull this off, you can, too.

The recipe makes one brioche loaf (perfect for french toast, bread pudding, sandwiches, pain aux rasin, and other glorious creations) or these doughnuts. Can’t go wrong either way, although I’d like to see how it turns out as the pain in pain aux rasin. 

Back to the doughnuts, though. Here’s what the dough looks like after you’ve taken it out of the fridge and cut out the circles:


Very flat.

Here’s the dough after one hour in a warm(ish), draft-free place (the oven, turned off):


Pillow-y, squishy, (cute!), and puffy. Perfection? Yes.

The frying time varies; the book said two minutes per side, but we had very well-done doughnuts. 15 seconds worked for us.

You can roll them in cinnamon and sugar, glaze, or fill the doughnuts…if you’re feeling un-lazy and curious (not me), try all three. At the same time.

Brioche Doughnuts

(from Huckleberry by Zoe Nathan)

3 tbs whole milk (we used cream)

2 tbsp active dry yeast

1.75 cups (215 grams) all-purpose flour

1.75 cups (215 grams) bread flour

0.25 cup + 1 tbsp (55 grams) sugar

1.5 tsp kosher salt

5 eggs, beaten

1 cup (220 grams) unsalted butter, softened

Sugar & cinnamon, for coating

  1. Gently heat cream until warm. Mix with yeast and set aside.
  2. Place flours, salt, and sugar in the bowl of a stand mixer with the eggs. Add yeast mixture. Beat on low speed until combined.
  3. Add butter in 1-2 tablespoon increments, mixing on low speed. The butter will not incorporate right away. After all the butter is added, turn the mixer to medium high speed and mix for 5-7 minutes, scraping down the bowl from time to time.
  4. Cover tightly with plastic wrap and refrigerate overnight.
  5. In a stainless steel pot or dutch oven, pour in 3 inches of canola oil. Use a candy thermometer to measure the temperature, and heat to 375˚F.
  6. Transfer dough to a heavily floured work surface. Using a rolling pin or your hands, press until 1.25” thick. Cut out doughnuts (we used the rim of a glass jar and a piping tip). You should have 10-24, depending on the size you choose to make the doughnuts.
  7. Fry the doughnuts 15 seconds per side, or long enough to obtain a golden brown color. Prepare the cinnamon sugar mixture and immediately toss the doughnuts after frying. Eat!
  8. These will keep for a few days, tightly sealed.