Whether you spell it malasada, or malassada, one thing is certain – people flock to bakeries and other places to sink their teeth into the sugar-coated delicacy. Malassadas (two s’s) originated on the island of São Miguel in the Azores
Whether you spell it malasada, or malassada, one thing is certain – people flock to bakeries and other places to sink their teeth into the sugar-coated delicacy.
Malassadas (two s’s) originated on the island of São Miguel in the Azores which was a Portuguese colony to the west of the European nation. Apparently, Azorians on the other eight islands called them filhós according to a Web site hosted by OSOONO dough.
Starting in 1878, and continuing for about a decade, Hawai‘i solicited immigrant workers from the Atlantic islands owned by Portugal who brought the desire (and recipes) for malassadas with them when they arrived here.
Many of the Portuguese families had their own recipes, and malassadas were made in their home kitchens whenever they developed a craving, but especially on Strove Tuesday.
“My mother-in-law, Esther Bunao, used to make malassadas, and is the same one I use,” Marlena Bunao of Kaua‘i Malas(s)ada said as she alternated between loading her cooker, tending the developing golden orbs, before finally packaging them in brown paper sacks after being coated with either sugar or cinnamon.
Unfortunately for malassada aficionados, Esther used to sell her wares outside of Ace Hardware/Ben Franklin in Lihu‘e, but has since opted to stay at home to baby-sit her grandchildren. One of her unique offerings there was the taro malassada.
Another aspect of family recipe malassadas is that diners of the golden delicacies are not able to enjoy them until special events bring the chefs out of their homes to prepare and supervise the malassada-making process at events like the Waimea Town Celebration where the West Kaua‘i Methodist Church vends their product, the Holy Cross carnival where malassada lines meant an hour’s wait for a package, the St. Theresa’s carnival, and the St. Catherine’s carnival where similar lines greeted those wanting to crave their malassada appetite.
For those not up on Catholic terminology, Strove Tuesday is the day before Ash Wednesday which marks the beginning of Lent, a period of self-deprivation for Roman Catholics that leads up to Easter.
“We don’t eat meat from Ash Wednesday,” Lei Nakayama, owner of the Kaua‘i Bakery in Kukui Grove said. “In New Orleans, it’s the Mardi Gras time,” she added.
On Strove Tuesday, or more commonly known as ‘Fat Tuesday,’ or more recently, ‘Malassada Tuesday,’ it’s okay to eat something truly indulgent, and for many, has become tradition.
In more recent times, with the advent of the Internet, it is not uncommon to see e-cards wishing people ‘Happy Malasada Day’ featuring a photo of a tasty, sugar-coated morsel.
When Frank Leonard Rego opened the doors to his landmark Leonard’s Bakery in Honolulu in 1952, the matriarch of the newly-opened bakery suggested they call Strove Tuesday, Malassada Tuesday as a marketing tool for the delicacy that has become the trademark for the Kapahulu bakery on O‘ahu.
Leonard’s marked the first time malassadas were available commercially, and the aromatic gems disappeared out the door regularly as customers visited the bakery specifically searching out the tasty morsels. “Oh, this is so great,” Jarrod Agasa, an employee aboard the cruise ship exclaimed as he couldn’t wait to board the shuttle back to the ship before enjoying his freshly-purchased product.
“This one is not as airy as the ones from Leonard’s. And, it’s not as thick as the one from Tex’s Drive in Honoka‘a (on the Big Island),” Agasa noted. “This one is just right!” But, not only did Agasa walk off with a sugar-coated one, he got to sample one of Bunao’s other offering – the cinnamon coated malassada.
As Bunao dipped more lumps of dough into the cooker, the yeasty aroma of the developing morsel wafted in the wind drawing more customers who followed their noses. “A lot of customer tell me that – ‘just follow your nose,” Bunao laughed while packaging more malassadas. Declining an offer for napkins, Agasa said, “I jus’ going lick my fingers.” Another customer, meanwhile, accepted the offer for napkins, her charge, an infant young girl straining from the confines of her stroller in an effort at getting one of the packaged goodies. “She’s going to want one right away,” the lady said, tucking her package securely in her handbag.
Malassadas have evolved from the plain dough to a wide variety of fillings as Kaua‘i Bakery helpers are quick to point out the cream-filled, chocolate-filled, and even a black bean variety that evolved from the original Chinese manju.
According to the OSOONO Web site, no one really knows when malassadas began to be spelled with one “s” instead of two, but one thing is certain on Malasada Tuesday, “We’re going to be busy,” Bunao and Nakayama both agreed.
Dennis Fujimoto, photographer and staff writer, can be reached at 245-3681 (ext. 253) and dfujimoto@pulitzer.net
