Our neighbors invited us to a lovely Fat Tuesday party last night. It was complete with masks and streamers and some delicious food right down to the King Cake. Another set of neighbors dropped off a box of warm malasadas while I was home ALONE. I left the box in tact until the kiddos got home from school.
A certain kid was pretty happy with his after school snack yesterday.
Malasadas are a Hawaiian tradition on Fat Tuesday. We had some local friends ask yesterday if that was also the tradition on the mainland. My answer… Nope. It’s pretty much being a glutton on red beans, rice and bourbon and then eating a giant honey bun like cake with extra frosting and a toy baby tucked inside. I think I only managed to scare them. At least, that was our Fat Tuesday tradition. Were there others? Please note… growing up there was not an ounce of bourbon in my house. My mother is horrified that I just said that. I also don’t remember ever celebrating Fat Tuesday while living in her house. I’m the partier that my mother never was and it is slightly horrifying to her at times.
Fat Tuesday is a fine tradition to have unless you participate in boot camp and them you have to weigh in the next day…and get through a week four workout while trying to throw up what ever piece of king cake is left in your gullet. That was me today. Good grief. I’m off to pout and truly pay for yesterday’s sins.