If You Get Near My Beignets, I’ll Probably Poke You With a Fork. {A guest post by Keri Grundstein}

Last week I came home from Kachina with a beignet in my purse.
I love Kachina.
This southwestern grill offering from Sage Hospitality has a menu of food and drinks I could (and do) get lost in over and over again.
There have been moments in the middle of a conference call, or during one of my math-is-hard spreadsheet deciphering sessions, when the thought of a Navajo Taco from Kachina carries me away and shuts down all ability to think of anything else.
Anything.
Answering the call of one of these cravings led me to lunch with Christine.
Christine led me to the beignets.
Outwardly, I remain natural about the concept of dessert.
I am the “oh, if YOU want something I will share it if you’d like,” type, and I always mean to mean it at the time.
Get two bites of chocolate- bomb-something-or-other into me, however, and if you go for the same whipped cream blob as me, I *might* poke you with my fork.
Control escapes me.
The beignets at Kachina are filled with chocolate, kissed with just a hint of chile and served with a cajeta (caramelized sweetened milk) sauce for drinking by the bucketful, or dipping.
I kept hold of myself and ate just two, and did NOT pick up the sauce and kiss it like the French folks do in order to get every last drop out of the container, or scarf down the whole order while glaring across the table, powdered sugar rimming my snarl.
Not this time – I kept it in check.
My shameless longing must have been apparent, however, because the last of the little pockets of perfection was planted on a bed of cajeta and sealed up for me to take home.
I walked out of there clutching my purse containing that confection like I was smuggling a lock of Prince George’s baby hair out of England.
This little bundle of sugary perfection would be the perfect late night bite before laying my head on my Pillow Pet, for what I just KNEW would be the sweetest dreams ever, and I could enjoy the secret anticipation for the rest of the day.
Except.
Except that my tiny edible trinket was going to have to go it alone in the wild, wild west that is The Family Fridge.
A thousand horrible could-be fates awaited it in that crowded, lawless land of beverages and condiments and leftovers (oh my).
It could be crushed under a carelessly placed growler of beer; or tipped to create a sticky pool of goo on a shelf, leaving me with the distasteful decision “do I scrape the delicious off the shelf and into my mouth while glancing around nervously to assure I’m not caught?” (Yes. Yes I do.)
Or, the WORST fate of all, where I walk into the kitchen just in time to see my husband licking the powdered sugar off of his fingers after cramming the whole thing into his face at once.
I stare in horror and disappointment as he gulps “I ate that doughnut hole. Pretty good. Do we have ice cream?”

:::Shudder::::

NOT THIS TIME, TASTY TREAT!!
To maximize my treasure’s chances, I stash it in the butter compartment on the door, behind my son’s Boo Boo Bear and underneath a dish of teething rings we never have to use any more.
Oh, how I watched that appliance all evening, eager to protect my little chunk of fried heaven.
Finally, 17 days later, (ok, so it just felt like that long) my husband climbed the stairs to bed and I was alone.
I recovered my precious from the toddler equipment wasteland and unsealed the lid to gaze upon it.
Hello, friend.
In the soft glow of the over-stove light, I made two bites into ten, savoring shamelessly.
(I cannot say that this container was spared the French treatment, like its counterpart at the restaurant. The sauce is just THAT good.)
Kachina is celebrating its first anniversary over Labor Day weekend, and I plan to celebrate and wish them MANY happy returns of the day.
If you join in the celebration, I have one tip to make your experience truly enjoyable:
Don’t touch my beignets.
Seriously.

{Find more of Keri’s writing on her hilarious blog, Reluctantly Suburban : http://www.reluctantlysuburban.com}

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