Images: Kevin Pang
The Pang title has been dishonored. Final week, upon studying about this curious state truthful meals merchandise “deep fried butter,” I made the fateful resolution to duplicate the dish inside the sanctity of my household house. The choice didn’t come straightforward. The notion of deep frying butter felt deeply shameful. I used to be above this rubbish meals of the plebeians. It will absolutely erase the the Aristocracy and esteem we Pangs have constructed over generations. In the long run, weak point befell my dignity.
Deep fried butter: It’s the invention of Abel Gonzales Jr., proclaimed by Texas Month-to-month as “the undisputed king of the truthful park fryers.” The son of a restaurateur, Gonzales gained notoriety as a multiple-time winner of a deep fried meals contest held yearly on the State Truthful of Texas. In 2009, Gonzales gained for a recipe through which he fried frozen balls of dough-wrapped butter. That win, together with the publicity that adopted, made deep fried butter a monster hit—Gonzales offered 140,000 balls throughout the state truthful’s three-week run. Different state festivals would copy Gonzales’ recipe, and variations had been concocted by cooks together with—not surprisingly—Paula Deen.
The considered making this dish at house sounded intriguing, in a “I’d marvel what’d occur if I squeezed this infected pores and skin boil”-sort of method. I looked for variations close to my hometown Chicago, and the closest I discovered was on the Wisconsin State Truthful, held every August within the Milwaukee suburb of West Allis. Wisconsin appeared a pure match—in any case, the state is arguably the middle from which all butter tradition within the U.S. rotates round. The restaurant group that made its deep-fried butter for the truthful demonstrated the recipe for the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel:
After watching this video—through which frozen butter in wonton pores and skin had been dunked in an egg-wash earlier than deep-frying—I started second-guessing my resolution. I solicited the recommendation of Carol Deptolla, the Journal-Sentinel’s restaurant critic, however actually I used to be looking for validation. My inside monologue: Simply give me some signal, Carol. You don’t must say the phrases, simply click on twice if I ought to go for it.
Deptolla instructed me she tried deep-fried butter years in the past, however didn’t have a lot reminiscence of the dish. “It’s positively extra of a novelty factor to say you’ve had it, than to say ‘oh let’s bear in mind to make the deep-fried butter for the Packers occasion,” Deptolla instructed me. She added: “It’s perilous to eat. You don’t wish to put on one thing that’s dry clean-only.”
At this level curiosity acquired the most effective of me. The concept that a meals might be non-ironically “perilous” was like telling a toddler to not stick his fingers within the mild socket—he’ll stupidly stick his fingers within the mild socket. I apologized to my ancestors, clutched a pair of rosary beads in a single hand and a roll of bathroom paper within the different, and dedicated to creating deep-fried butter.
Images: Kevin Pang
The recipe, to make use of the time period loosely: Take a stick of frozen butter, reduce into slabs. Wrap one wonton pores and skin across the butter, sealing it with egg-wash and urgent down the sides. Lastly, drop the entire bundle into the egg-wash after which right into a pot of 350-degree Fahrenheit vegetable oil. Inside 60 seconds, these dumplings puffed into tiny pillows and turned a light-weight golden brown. I instantly plated the wontons and dusted with powdered sugar. I bit into one—solely there was one downside.
Picture: Kevin Pang
There was nothing inside. The butter had disappeared, leaked via some opening regardless of my greatest efforts to seal the bundle tightly.
Take two: This time the butter was cubed into smaller items, and the entire wonton was balled up tightly. There could be no escaping this time. As soon as once more I dropped it within the sizzling oil for one minute. This was the end result:
Picture: Kevin Pang
I bit in. It was as if somebody had squeezed an infected pores and skin boil instantly into my mouth—a sizzling liquid squirted out and dripped down the facet of my lip. The act stuffed me with humiliation. And but, it was crispy and candy, tasting like a molten croissant-shaped ball exploded between my tooth.
In life, one tries to study from their errors. As God as my witness, I’ll by no means journey down this street once more. And but I can by no means deny having indulged within the satan’s dessert, and acknowledging that someplace deep inside my soul, a voice whispers: You preferred it, you sick fuck.