The Portuguese treat eagerly adopted by islanders has its origins in Shrove Tuesday

By Anna Weaver | Hawaii Catholic Herald

Eleanora Cadinha’s Malassadas Kaneohe resident Eleanora Cadinha has been making this recipe for more than 50 years. Why is Cadinha sharing her family recipe? “To me if you do something and somebody likes it, I’m willing to share it,” she said. “If you don’t share it how can it continue on?” Her recipe twist includes lemon and vanilla extract, potatoes to make the dough fluffier, and a vanilla-bean put in a container of sugar ahead of time to flavor it. 1 whole vanilla bean White sugar in which to roll malassadas Yeast mixture 2 packets or 2 tablespoons fast-acting yeast 1 tablespoon sugar 1/2 cup warm water Dough 2 medium-sized russet potatoes 1 stick butter 1 cup sugar 8 eggs 1.5 teaspoons salt 8 cups flour 1.5 cups milk 2 teaspoons vanilla extract 2 teaspoons lemon extract Cooking oil A few weeks ahead of time put a vanilla bean in a covered container of granulated sugar to allow the sugar to absorb the flavor. The day of making the malassadas, begin by peeling and cooking the two russet potatoes until tender and then drain. While the potatoes are cooking combine the fast-acting yeast with the tablespoon of sugar and half cup of warm water (not too hot, not too cold). Set yeast mixture aside. Using a Kitchen Aid mixer or other large mixer, beat the potatoes until smooth. Add the stick of butter and mix well. Add the cup of sugar followed by the eggs one at a time and mix well. Mix in salt, flour and yeast mixture gradually. Separately mix the milk with the vanilla and lemon extract and combine that with the other ingredients until blended. Cover the bowl with the dough and put it aside for about an hour or until it doubles in size. When the dough is almost risen, heat oil in a wok or large pot until it reaches about 350 degrees. Dip one hand in a separate container of oil and grab a golf ball-sized lump of dough at a time. Drop in oil. Only turn the ball once, just until it’s golden brown on each side. Turning it more than once will make the malassada greasy. Dry off malassadas on paper towels and put in a plastic bag of vanilla-flavored sugar. Shake until coated. Serve hot. Makes five dozen malassadas.

Hawaii Catholics have their own “last blow-out” before Lent every year, and it involves a sugary, hot, deep-fried delight — the legendary malassada.

Many people today know the day before Ash Wednesday as Mardi Gras, but the church has for centuries called it Shrove Tuesday. Shrove is the past tense of “to shrive,” which refers to confessing or giving absolution. The time before Lent became known as Shrovetide when the church emphasized going to confession before the beginning of Lent.

Non deMello, co-owner of Agnes’ Portuguese Bake Shop in Kailua explains the malassada’s origin like this. On the Portuguese islands of Madeira and the Azores, people would “get rid of the things in the household that you wouldn’t normally be using during Lent.”

Eggs, animal fat, milk and sugar were verboten during a liturgical season that emphasized fasting and penance. Not coincidentally, those same ingredients were the main items thrown together to make malassadas.

Portuguese historian and Hawaii Council on Portuguese Heritage member Herbert Carlos has a slightly different version of how the malassada came to be. He says that the literal interpretation of malassada is “badly cooked,” which references a bad batch of Portuguese sweet bread dough that didn’t rise properly. Carlos says that instead of throwing the dough out, people deep fried it.

“It’s based mostly on legend but there’s probably some truth to it,” he said.

Carlos and deMello both say that if you go to the continental Portugal and ask for a malassada, they won’t know you mean the deep-fried donut. However, mainland Portuguese do have a similar pastry called a filhoz, said Carlos, who remembers purchasing a dozen from a bakery while on a visit to Portugal.

The two men also agreed on the spelling — two “s”s. One “s” would make the word sound like “mala-shada” if pronounced properly in Portuguese.

Mardi Gras, or Shrove Tuesday, became synonymous with Malassada Day in Hawaii thanks to Portuguese immigrants who came from Madeira and the Azores in the 1880s and 1890s to work on Hawaii plantations. They shared their tradition of making malassadas on Shrove Tuesday with other island residents, and malassadas became popular year round.

“For some reason, here in Hawaii, it caught the imagination and the heart of the people,” Carlos said.

On Malassada Day, deMello says Agnes’ sells “hundreds of dozens” of malassadas. “We don’t have the capacity to put out more,” he said. The bakery also sells batches of dough to many schools and churches.

Leonard’s Bakery in Kapahulu is famous for its malassadas. The landmark establishment was founded in 1952 by the grandson of Portuguese immigrants and quickly became known for its malassadas, which it spells with one “s.” The bakery says it can’t even count the number of malassadas it turns out the day before Ash Wednesday.

Malassada memories

For local comedian Frank De Lima, Lent and malassadas are closely tied together in his memory. His mother, Pearl, would have dough rising by the time he and his siblings came home from school.

“She’d fry it after school and then we’d take it to all the neighbors and have some for ourselves too,” De Lima said. They especially savored the treats because, “malassadas were our last sweets until Easter Sunday.”

You wanna malassada? Here are a few places you can find malassadas during “Shrovetide.” Oahu Damien Memorial School, Kalihi A drive-through malassada sale, in the school parking lot, 6:30 a.m.-11 a.m., Feb. 24. Malassadas will be made on site from dough from Agnes’ Portuguese Bake Shop. 70 cents each, $4 a half dozen, or $6 a dozen. Manoa-Punahou Catholic Community Mardi Gras ‘Fat Tuesday’ Celebration will include malassadas. Sacred Heart Parish Hall, Feb. 24. Call the parish for information, 973-2211. St. John Vianney Parish, Kailua The Sodality of Our Blessed Lady will sell malassadas and fried noodles after all Masses on Feb. 22. 50 cents each, or $6 a dozen. Kauai St. Theresa School, Kekaha Plans haven’t been finalized but the school plans to sell malassadas for pick-up Feb. 24 as it has for the past two years. Maui St. Joseph Parish, Makawao Unless you bought pre-sale tickets, it may be too late to get the in-demand malassadas here. The parishioners fry up 700 dozen for pick-up on Feb. 24, 7 a.m.-3 p.m., at $8 a dozen. Call the parish for availability, 572-7652.

Pearl De Lima, who died in December, was known as the “Malassada Lady” at Punahou School where she worked. She helped develop the original malassada recipe used at the school’s carnival — now a fair food highlight — and cooked them at class camps at Camp Timberline.

Carlos eventually converted his mother’s estimated recipe into a measured one that he used in his two “Uncle Herb’s (Da Best) Malassadas” stands at the Kunia and Mililani Wal-Marts for 10 years. He’s taught his niece and nephew the recipe and they have their own small malassada business.

For the 80-year-old it’s the sweet smell of his mother’s malassadas that lingers in his memory.

“The aroma of malassadas being prepared just saturated the house,” Carlos said. “It was a wonderful comforting smell.”

“When my mother was alive, making malassadas was reserved only for Shrove Tuesday,” the Blessed Sacrament Pauoa parishioner added. “We as children knew that when Mom made malassadas that Lent would begin the next day.”

He added that for Catholic kids of his generation that meant both a mixture of delight at eating the special treat and dread that, “Uh, oh, tomorrow there’s no more candy, no more movies, no more radio.”

The Diocese of Honolulu’s Bishop Larry Silva grew up in California but stayed connected to his Portuguese roots on Shrove Tuesday when his mother made malassadas.

Fading tradition

Like the bishop’s mother and other Hawaii descendants of Portuguese immigrants, Eleanora Cadinha learned to make malassadas from her mother.

The St. Ann Kaneohe parishioner has encouraged her grandchildren to learn her recipe (see sidebar). “I told them they have to get started,” she said.

But at 80 years old, Cadinha still makes a batch “whenever I get the urge, when somebody comes over, or if my grandson says, ‘Grandma, can you make malassadas?’” She and members of the Ana Malia chapter of the Young Ladies’ Institute also make malassadas at St. Ann’s Christmas festival.

Every Shrove Tuesday, Cadinha makes malassadas, just like her mother. And those that aren’t lucky enough to have a master malassada maker in their family can still pick up malassadas at certain parishes, Catholic schools and local bakeries.

Frank De Lima thinks the Malassada Day tradition isn’t as well known as it used to be.

“These days I’m sure there’s a lot of people that don’t know about it because of the expansion of the different ethnic groups,” he said.

DeMello agrees. But Carlos thinks making malassadas on Shrove Tuesday is perhaps the last tradition that kamaaina of Portuguese heritage hold onto.

“They still want their malassadas,” he said. “Maybe it’s genetic.”