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The Christmas fried dough that every Portuguese grandmother shapes differently, stretched thin by hand and fried golden, then buried under cinnamon sugar while still warm. This is what December smells like.
When I was small, I knew Christmas was coming by the smell. Not pine or cinnamon candles. Frying oil and sugar. Avó Leonor would take over the kitchen for an entire afternoon, her hands working dough that she'd been making since before my mother was born.
Filhós are chaos and tradition wrapped together. The dough is sticky, temperamental, alive. You stretch it thin over your knuckles until you can almost see through it. Then you drop it into hot oil and watch it puff and twist and turn golden. Every family shapes them differently. Some make roses. Some make figure-eights. Some just pull and stretch until the dough decides what it wants to be.
There are two schools: abóbora or aguardente. Pumpkin or brandy. Avó Leonor was firmly in the pumpkin camp. The abóbora makes the dough tender, slightly sweet, easier to work. The aguardente version is lighter, crispier, with that warmth of alcohol that burns off in the frying. I'll give you both variations because this is a recipe where families get fierce about doing it their way.
At Mesa da Avó, we serve these still warm, sugar clinging to the oil, stacked on grandmother's platters like golden clouds. People close their eyes when they bite in. They're tasting December. They're tasting childhood. They're tasting home.
Filhós descend from medieval fritters brought to Portugal through Moorish and Roman influence, with the name derived from the Latin 'folium' (leaf) for their thin, delicate shape. The tradition of making them at Christmas solidified in the 16th and 17th centuries as part of the elaborate 'consoada' feast. Regional variations developed over centuries: Beira uses more pumpkin, Trás-os-Montes favors aguardente, and the Alentejo stretches them thinner than anywhere else.
Quantity
500g
plus more for dusting
Quantity
300g
mashed smooth
Quantity
3 tablespoons
substitute for pumpkin in aguardente version
Quantity
3 large
Quantity
50g
Quantity
from 1 orange
Quantity
from 1 lemon
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
about 1 liter
for frying
Quantity
200g
for cinnamon sugar coating
Quantity
2 tablespoons
for coating
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| all-purpose flourplus more for dusting | 500g |
| cooked pumpkin (abóbora)mashed smooth | 300g |
| aguardente or brandy (optional)substitute for pumpkin in aguardente version | 3 tablespoons |
| eggs | 3 large |
| sugar | 50g |
| orange zest | from 1 orange |
| lemon zest | from 1 lemon |
| salt | 1 teaspoon |
| aguardente or brandy | 1 tablespoon |
| vegetable oil or mild olive oilfor frying | about 1 liter |
| sugarfor cinnamon sugar coating | 200g |
| ground cinnamonfor coating | 2 tablespoons |
If using pumpkin, you need it completely smooth and not too wet. Cut abóbora menina or butternut squash into chunks, roast at 200°C until completely soft, about 40 minutes. Scoop out the flesh and mash until no lumps remain. If it seems watery, spread it on a clean kitchen towel and let it drain for 10 minutes. Wet pumpkin makes sticky dough.
In a large bowl, combine the flour, sugar, salt, orange zest, and lemon zest. Make a well in the center. Add the eggs, mashed pumpkin (or 3 tablespoons aguardente if making the brandy version), and the tablespoon of aguardente. Mix with your hands, bringing the flour in gradually from the edges. The dough will be sticky. This is correct. Keep working it until it comes together into a shaggy mass.
Turn the dough onto a floured surface and knead for 8 to 10 minutes. Add flour sparingly, only if it sticks so badly you can't work it. The dough should become smooth, soft, and elastic. It should feel alive under your hands. When you poke it, it should spring back slowly. Cover with a clean towel and let it rest for 30 minutes. Resting relaxes the gluten so you can stretch it thin.
Pour oil into a large, deep pot to a depth of at least 8 centimeters. Heat to 170°C (340°F). Use a thermometer. Too hot and the outside burns before the inside cooks. Too cool and they absorb oil and turn heavy. Have a plate lined with paper towels ready, and a slotted spoon or spider for turning.
Pinch off a piece of dough about the size of a golf ball. On a lightly floured surface, press it flat. Now here's where it gets interesting. Pick up the dough and drape it over your knuckles. Gently stretch and rotate, letting gravity help, pulling it thinner and thinner until you can nearly see through the center. The edges will stay thicker. This is fine. This is traditional. Some people make slits with scissors. Some twist into figure-eights. Some let it stay irregular. Every family has their shape.
Carefully lay the stretched dough into the hot oil. It will puff immediately. Use the slotted spoon to gently turn it after about 30 seconds, when the bottom is golden. Fry another 30 seconds on the second side. The whole process takes barely a minute. The filhó should be golden brown with darker spots where the dough was thicker. Remove to the paper-lined plate. Work in batches, never crowding the pot.
While the filhós are still warm and slightly oily, toss them in the cinnamon sugar mixture. Don't be shy. The sugar should coat every surface, clinging to the oil. Stack them on a serving platter as you go. They're best eaten within a few hours of frying, while still slightly warm and impossibly crispy.
1 serving (about 50g)
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