Reindeer Poop (or yummy fried dough)

Pardon the name.  I won’t admit to taking part in the naming of this yummy treat, but when you have boys in your home, well, potty humor happens.  Last year, we decided to do a family activity every evening of Advent.  This activity, making fried dough, is an easy crowd pleaser.  The kids even get to help with the dough unrolling, careful slicing, and sugar shakin’.

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You will need:

1 can of Pillsbury French Loaf.

1 large bottle of vegetable oil.

1& 1/2 cups of sugar and 1 tbsp of cinnamon, mixed well

cutting board, pizza cutter, plastic container with tight lid

I start by pouring the whole bottle of oil into a large corning-type crock or other safe for frying (high walled, appropriate material) pot.   Heat the oil over medium heat for about five minutes.  Open the can of french bread and unroll it lengthwise onto a clean cutting board.  It’s sometimes tough to get started, but don’t give up, it will unroll.  You should end up with a flat, rectangle of dough.  After that, I use a pizza cutter to slice the dough into several small 1-2 inch rectangles.  You can roll it into whatever… um… shape you want, but I like easy so I just leave it as is.  Gently place 5-6 pieces at a time into the hot oil.  Careful to avoid splashes because they hurt!  You will know your oil is hot enough when they float right up after you drop them in.  It takes just a minute or two on each side and I flip them with a metal, slotted spatula.  Once they are golden brown on both sides, remove from pot and place on a paper towel-lined plate.  Then, I use tongs to move them from the plate to a lidded plastic storage container holding the cinnamon and sugar mixture.  Put the fried dough into the container, place the lid on tight, and shake!  Remove the “Poo” carefully and voila, delish!

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To the mom at the table across from ours: I’m sorry.

When I came across Romans 2:1 in my daily reading, I was reminded of our first, unbeknownst to me, encounter with food allergies.  Given all the recent disputes over food allergies in the media, I’m going to share.  Sometimes we have to be reminded to “turn the table” and consider the view from the other side.

Flashback to 10+ years ago:

Hubby and I are spending a romantic weekend at Disney World, having just found out we are pregnant with our first child.  All day, my mind had been filled daydreams of mommy-hood and I found myself observing all of the other mothers around me at work.  We are seated at a table at one of the fabulous Disney restaurants and are waiting on our server.

At the table across the aisle, a family of three arrived: Mom, Dad, and elementary-aged daughter. Dad sat down, but before Mom sat down, she took a white napkin from the table and daintily but thoroughly wiped down her daughter’s chair before she sat.

I’m ashamed to admit this, but I remember thinking something like “Ohhh-kay… that mother sure treats her daughter like a princess.”

The server came out, took our order and then turned to them. They asked to speak with the chef, something I had never seen done before at a restaurant. The chef came out to their table and they discussed how their daughter’s meal was to be prepared.

I thought, “Wow, this is a nice restaurant if they offer that kind of special attention.” and, “Seriously? She must be a really finicky eater.”  Insert that popular phrase we’ve all thought at some point = “I will never do that with my kids”.

Fast forward 2 years:

I sat my daughter in her high chair and handed her her first teething biscuit. Hours later, she is covered in hundreds of hives, rushed to the emergency room, and later diagnosed with multiple, severe food allergies.

In the years since that day, I have learned volumes about parenting a child with food allergies, including the one place we can vacation where I don’t have to cook because they are fabulous with food allergies- Disney World.

Romans 2:1 “…for in passing judgment on another you condemn yourself, because you, the judge, practice the very same things.”

So to you, AWESOME food allergy mom at the table across from ours: I’m sorry.