Here is a picture of the (partial) results of Coffee Ring Day.
It was a good one this year. Tradition has it that I get up and
start baking, and DH brings home pizza for dinner. There was
a time he'd trundle the children off to a movie or some such thing,
as eight little hands helping Mama makes for a slow, long day
of it when there are this many goodies to bake. Now they can
I learned from my mother, she learned from hers . . .
No, they do not taste like coffee.
No, there is no coffee in them.
They are so named because, for the most part, one would imbibe
a fresh hot cuppa along with a generous slice of ring, which is like
a lovely rich cinnamon roll, only so much better, it's what cinnamon
rolls WISH they could be! Some people call them tea rings;
however, my Swedish ancestors shudder at the thought of tea.
Phaaa! Coffee drinkers, every last one of them. Kaffe. C'mon,
people, didn't you ever read Pippi Longstockings??
Somehow, these did not all get delivered before Christmas, so there
are about five strays still in the deep freeze. Coffee rings, not ancestors.
Whether they ever make their way to their intended recipients
remains to be seen . . . once again, coffee rings, not ancestors . . .