Strufoli Big Al’s Way

I’m not sure if everyone knows what strufoli are so first off, I had best explain. When we were kids, we used to call them Honey Balls. They are little balls of dough (made with flour and egg) that are deep fried. Then they are covered with honey and piled into a triangular mound sort of like a Christmas tree & covered with colored round sprinkles. You must use the round type. Nothing else is allowed.

You can see a picture of them here. The recipe that goes with the photo, however, is not how we used to make them.

Strufoli are only made at Christmas time. In our family, it was one of the traditional Christmas cookies (although I’m not really sure you can call them ‘cookies’) and they were made every single year. It just wasn’t Christmas without them. I recall my grandmother making them also but they weren’t as good as ours.

For all the other cookies, mostly it was my mom who baked them. I’d help or I’d take over making some but my father never got involved in the cookie baking. Except for the strufoli. That was an annual tradition. Big Al & mom would make the strufoli together. Always.

A few years before my mom died, she was in the hospital for 4 months. It’s a long story but the short version is, she went in for surgery for a brain tumor, developed every complication under the sun, had several more brain surgeries plus assorted others & we didn’t think she’d ever come home. But, through some miracle, she did come home – right before Christmas.

After being in a hospital bed for 4 months, she needed to use a walker and she certainly wasn’t up to cooking or going out. We were, however, going to have Christmas. My siblings & I decorated the house before she arrived home. We were all ready to have Christmas with Mom, something we never thought we’d be doing only a month prior to that.

I don’t remember the details of who cooked what. My dad may have cooked Christmas dinner that year or we may have all brought something. Those details are gone into the black hole of my mind. What I do remember is my dad made strufoli.

After dinner, the desserts came out. All the cookies, the cakes, the pies and my father proudly put down the platter of strufoli because, after all, it wouldn’t be Christmas without them. I can’t remember who took the first one.

“What are those black things in there? Did you put something different in the dough?”

“No,” my dad said. “I made them the same as we always do.” We passed them around, examining them.

“Uh, Dad. These don’t look right. I think they’re bugs.”

My mom looks at them and agrees. “Didn’t you see there were bugs in the flour?”

Big Al replies, “I thought it was supposed to look that way.” He pops the strufoli into his mouth. “I think they taste better like this!”

Frank tries one, as well, because… well he’s just strange. “They taste fine to me!” And if that wasn’t bad enough, being married to someone who has no problem with eating bugs, it seems the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Stephen ate some, too. Theresa remembers one of my brothers eating them, too, but we can’t remember which one.

This year we’re having Christmas Eve over my father & his wife’s house. I’m thinking of making strufoli. I will, however, be checking the flour for insects.