Pampukhy z Povydlom (пампухи з повидлом, jam doughnuts)

The arresting thing is the line of jam. Not the sugar on your fingers, though that helps, and not the gold of the fried dough, but that dark plum povydlo hiding inside, thick enough to stay put, sharp enough to wake the sweet bread around it. A good pampukh is light, but it is not timid.

These are the Christmas doughnuts of the west, especially Halychyna, made for Rizdvo when the house already smells of poppy seed, honey, dried fruit, and somebody's coat drying by the door. They are sweet pampukhy, not the garlic pampushky that meet borshch, and the spelling matters because the table knows the difference. Aunt Nadia wrote only "fry until it sounds right," which is irritating until you hear it: the oil settles into a steady lively hiss, not a furious spit, and the doughnuts turn the color of a winter candle.

The one thing that decides the dish is the jam. Use thick povydlo, the long-cooked plum butter, or rose-petal jam if you can find it. Thin jam leaks, burns, and makes comedy of your careful work. If that's all you have, cook it down first until a spoon dragged through the pan leaves a path. Then fill generously. There's no tradition of a shy doughnut.