Coffee Karintō

Coffee Karintō

コヒーカリン糖

¥100

Karintō are crunchy, bite-sized batons of yeasted wheat dough that is deep fried and coated, most often with a sweet glaze. 

Like most wheat-based treats, karintō were originally brought to Japan from another country, but it’s uncertain whether they were introduced by the Chinese in the 700s or the Portuguese in the 1500s. At any time during that span, both wheat and sugar were so expensive that karintō would have been a luxury food. As the availability of these ingredients increased and prices came down, karintō would have become more common; street vendors began selling them by the mid-1800s. 

Traditionally glazed with either white or brown sugar, modern karintō are available in a wide variety of flavors such as ginger and coffee. I purchased these from a Tokyo branch of Daiso, the   Japanese version of a dollar store. 

Khapse

Khapse
Tibetan Association of Washington, $15 with Losar dinner

Seattle's tiny Tibetan community puts on a Losar celebration that's everything I like a New Year's bash to be:  colorful, well catered, teeming with raucous children, and equal parts mystery and welcome.

I wandered into the Shoreline Senior Center shyly, not knowing a soul, but in under a minute I was offered at seat at a friendly table.  As we made introductions, a man came by with a large box and tongs, topping a paper plate already full of extra-spicy Cheetos with a delicacy I'd only ever read about, a treat both mysterious and hospitable:  Tibetan "cookies", or khapse. 

Made from dampened wheat flour and small amounts of salt, sugar, or both, khapse's appeal has more to do with appearance and texture than with flavor.  The dough is rolled into sheets, cut into strips, and wrought into a variety of traditional or whimsical shapes.  Finally, a dip in boiling oil gives the flimsy sculptures structural integrity and crunch.  

In Tibet, Losar season calls for vast quantities of khapse, from elaborate coils and curls that are stacked into offering towers, to simpler twists stored in a tin and brought out to eat with tea whenever a visitor stops by.  In the lead-up to Losar, professional khapse makers will make house calls, using portable deep fryers to create temporary outdoor kitchens for the freshest cookies.  

My first bite wasn't promising; my butterfly-shaped khapse was so hard and dry that my jaw ached after two chews.  Then a new acquaintance arrived back at the table with a round of hot, milky tea and some advice.  A quick tea-bath transformed my khapse into something much more enjoyable, and I polished it off wing by wing as the adults around me discussed the difficulties of the past year and their brightly-dressed children dashed around the room, laughing.  
 

Fry Bread

Fry Bread

When I confessed to the students in my ASU jewelry workshop that I'd never tried fry bread, they took it upon themselves to remedy the oversight. Bless/curse them for it.

Fry bread is pretty much what it sounds like: a generous disc of leavened dough deep fried until golden. While it can be wrapped around meat, beans, and veggies (a"Navajo taco"), mine was covered with powdered sugar and honey. I went outside to eat it so no one would see me gnawing, crunching, and licking the honey off my knuckles.

Like so many historical sweets, fry bread also has its unsavory side. While it is known as a "traditional" Native American food, the prominent use of refined flour and shortening dates to a particular--and painful--point in First Nations history. An article from the Tacoma News Tribune quotes Nancy Games, a Puyallup and Tulalip who lives in Yelm, WA: "In the concentration camps called reservations, the agents would give you flour, and that's what you used to make fry bread." Weighing in at 700 calories and 27 grams of fat per serving, fry bread was a sort of proto-Powerbar, a fantastic source of energy during lean times that resulted from Native Americans being cut off from their lands and livelihoods. Today, times may tough but they are hardly "lean"; fry bread has been characterized as a key contributor to the high rates of obesity, diabetes, and heart disease among Native Americans.

Buñuelos

Buñuelos de Miel

Guanaco's Tacos, $4

If Guanaco's excellent pupusas and tacos leave your stomach with room to spare, then the buñuelos de miel will do their best to satisfy.  These pillowy balls of golden-fried yuca dough have a pleasing texture but little flavor of their own, so they're drenched in miel de panela, a syrup made from cane juice that's been evaporated and re-liquified; it's as sticky as runny honey but lacks honey's complex flavors.  Buñuelos de miel bear more than a passing resemblance to gulab jamun, but they are less sweet and served blisteringly hot. 

While I'm thrilled that I no longer have to schlep all the way to White Center for pupusas, the Salvadorean Bakery remains my top spot for sweet Salvadorean treats.   

Guanaco's Tacos and Pupuseria

4106 Brooklyn Ave NE (at 41st)

Seattle, WA  98105

206/547-2369