By way of explanation, it helps for folks not from 'round here to know that these delights are a long-proud tradition in Buffalo on Mardi-gras, owing to this region's large Polish community.
An East-side Buffalo bakery, just before midnight....
“We’re closed up, Fred...oh no. Not again.”
“I think I got it this time, Joe.”
Fred huddled over an enormous pocket of fried and sugared dough, one foot in diameter, quivering as if alive. A hose ran from its side to the filling machine.
“It’ll never work, Fred!”
“No! Just a bit more filling...there...there! I’ve officially reached critical mass! I’ve DONE IT!”
Cracks formed in the dough....
Joe wiped lemon filling from his eyes. “Ummm...get me a mop?”
“Igor obeys, Doctor Pastrystein,” Fred grumbled.
Mardi-gras in Buffalo.