Apple Fritters and Homemade Dough Bait

Summer memories of apple fritters and homemade dough bait hearken back to many camping and fishing trips in the 1960s with my family. We were a blue collar, Midwest family of four girls. Dad and Mom owned an old blue station wagon which doubled as our mode of transport when we set off on our weekend adventures on the road. Everything we needed; tent, fishing poles, tackle, cooking wares, and much much more, was packed into our gypsy wagon.

My Mom's parents came to live with us after my Grandpa retired. We had become a family of eight. My Grandparents stayed home and took care of our critters when we left on our road trips. My Grandma was a wonderful cook. She would make rum soaked fruit cakes in the winter and in the summer she'd fry up the fresh fish we had caught after a fishing trip. There were always two things she would make to send along with us on our road trips. Those were her apple fritters and her special homemade dough bait for fishing.

The night before we were to leave, Grandma would bring out her big double handled pot for the dough bait, and her cast iron skillet for the fritters. No measuring spoons or cups for her though, she didn't need them. It was her hand and a coffee cup that were her tools in the kitchen. We girls watched in awe, amazed that she didn't use a recipe card or a book to follow.

First, she would make the dough bait which was a simple recipe made with cornmeal, sugar, a little vanilla extract, water, and sometimes a piece of anise candy that was crushed into the dough. Being fishermen themselves, Grandma and Grandpa used this tried-and-true dough bait recipe often to catch fish. It was fun to make this recipe, because once everything was added, it had to cook for only a short time and then Grandma would say, "Ok, that's enough stirring now." If we weren't quick enough removing the spoon, it would get good and stuck in the pot. She then would set us to the task of spooning out globs of the hot dough, rolling them into balls, and plopping them into an awaiting coffee can. Grandma and Grandpa were coffee drinkers, and Grandma always put those cans to good use. The dough was tasty with a sweetness to it. We couldn't resist pinching small pieces to pop into our mouths when Grandma wasn't looking.

While we were busy rolling, packing, and snacking, Grandma would start frying the apple fritters in the skillet. I couldn't even try to duplicate them to this day because she worked so skillfully and quickly. Besides, I was too busy rolling out dough bait balls and snacking on them. When the fritters were a rich golden brown, she'd pluck them out of the hot oil with tongs, and lay them on paper towels we had placed out on the counter top. Then, she quickly doused them with powdered sugar that clung and soaked into the fritters in delicious sweetness. Grandma always let us sample the fritters, and they were always the best batch ever. We were never ashamed to lick our fingers and say, "Yum!" After the fritters were cooled, she'd pack them into coffee cans, but unlike the dough bait filled cans, these were lined with a bandana. It looked like they were going on a picnic.

The next morning, off we'd drive, either heading north for the Wisconsin River, or south towards the Mississippi, or west towards the edge of Illinois. Grandma's coffee cans were packed in the back of the station wagon in the" Pit”as was dubbed by us. This was the big area behind the back seat where all our gear was packed in and around, except for a small center area Dad would leave open for someone to sit. Dad drove, Mom sat in the front seat next to him, my three sisters sat in the back seat, and I sat in the Pit. I was the only one who liked being there. No one could poke my sides with their pointy elbows if I encroached in their territory. I had plenty of room in the Pit.

After getting on the road, Mom would call back to us saying, "Let's break out those fritters!" While the farm fields of corn and paddocks of horses and cows were passed by, we'd all be munching on those sugary apple fritters. The bandana was a built in napkin, but as I said, we licked the sugar off our fingers. We were kids and didn't see the need to wipe our sticky fingers. Grandma's fritters never lasted until lunchtime. We'd always want one more of the those sugary gems.

When we got to our favorite fishing hole, we molded the dough bait around our hooks and cast out, hoping the fish would bite. We had a good time throwing our lines into the water, getting them hopelessly tangled, and nibbling on dough bait. But it didn't matter if we caught fish or not because we had feasted on the leftover dough bait.

That night we went to bed with our tummies full of Grandma's apple fritters and homemade dough bait. To this day, whenever I smell apples cooking in the summer or cornbread baking in the oven, I think of Grandma's send-alongs.