Cooking is a creative activity–no matter how closely you’re following a recipe–and as such, it’s never an un-emotional experience. When I’m in the kitchen, I’m excited, relaxed, terrified, frustrated, meditative, often more than one of the above, and always because of what I’m cooking. I think it’s possible, too, to every once in a while have a truly spiritual experience in the kitchen: a brief but perfect communion with your food, a moment in which you realize that you and it are an intimate part of each other’s history.

I had this experience in my mother’s kitchen, two days before Christmas, as I made zeppole, the sweet and savory doughnuts my late grandmother once turned out by the hundred at this time of year. Zeppole are a specialty of southern Italy, where they’re traditionally made for the feast of Saint Joseph on March 19th. Nowadays, they occasionally turn up at carnivals and street fairs. They come in many shapes and sizes: some are simply balls of dough, sprinkled with powdered sugar or stuffed with jam, others are ring-shaped, like a conventional doughnut. My grandmother’s–and mine, I’m proud to say–are fabulously twisted, gnarly things, made from a leavened yeast dough and, of course, deep-fried.
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