Ma’s Donuts.

The picture sat in my inbox. A picture of an old recipe, brown with age, short on detail, ending with an abrupt: Roll out 1/4 inch think Fry.

Comical spelling error aside, there was only one short message sent with the image: It’s cold here!

Sent December 22, 2024. Not from my ma. Nor indeed from her ma. But from my dad’s ma, my Nana.

A donut recipe passed down through generations and one that we – my extended family and I – were all keen to make sure was passed down to us. Nothing was quite like the simple potato donuts, spiced with nutmeg, and fried to a golden brown.

And we all knew, though we didn’t say, the one who made these magical treats wouldn’t be around much longer.

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