I grew up in airports. That’s not literally true, of course, but it captures something about the shape of my childhood: summers spent in India, school years in Asia or the Persian Gulf, and constant movement between worlds. Our suitcases were always half-packed, and goodbyes came with the certainty of hellos somewhere else. I spent my childhood learning, again and again, how to walk into a new place and find my footing.

This experience offered a particular kind of education. You learn to read rooms quickly. You realise that the word "home" is complicated. You understand that belonging is not something that is given to you; it is something you must build repeatedly, using whatever materials are at hand.

However, here is what I also learned throughout those years and moves: wherever we went, my parents carried India with them. Not in an obvious manner—with framed pictures or nostalgic speeches - but in smaller, more essential ways. In the spices that travelled in our luggage, in the rhythm of our meals, and in the way my mother's kitchen, whether in Egypt or Doha, always smelled like somewhere else.

And in the way we gathered.

Growing up between cultures teaches you early on that community is not automatic. In India, family was everywhere; you didn’t have to work for it. But in the places we lived, family meant just us. We had to rely on each other completely, learning how to open up and let others into our lives.

I think that’s why food became so central to our family life. Food was the thread connecting us to where we came from while helping us feel at home in our new environments. It was the common language we could all speak.

My parents taught me this without ever articulating it directly. My father showed me how to knead dough with the heel of my hand: "Feel it, don't force it." My mother let me stand beside her at the stove, allowing me to watch and absorb without explaining. My Nani and aunties picked up right where we left off whenever we visited India, as if the months apart meant nothing. The kitchen floor in my Nani's house became a place where I learned without even realising it.

These were not formal lessons; they were simply moments of presence together. In that being, something passed between us - a way of moving through the world, a way of loving.

When I met my husband's family for the first time, I carried all of this with me, without even realising it.

They were from the former East Germany "Ossis," as they say with a mix of pride and self-deprecation. The Germany of their childhood was not the affluent, unified Germany of today. It was a place of scarcity, of waiting in lines, and of making things last. In their community, togetherness was not a choice; it was a necessity.

The house where I first visited them was beautiful, set on spacious grounds with light and calm that takes years to cultivate. However, what struck me most was how it had come to be; they built it with their own hands. Not alone, but with their community: neighbours who showed up on weekends, friends who knew how to lay bricks, and people who willingly gave their time because that was simply what you did. You also do that when you understand that no worthwhile achievement is made alone.

Walking into their home, I felt nervous despite having lived in Germany for a few years. I could speak the language and understood the rhythms of life there, but meeting the parents of the man I loved brought its own kind of unfamiliarity.

As I entered, I was welcomed by the iconic smell of my mother-in-law's Rinderrouladen - a dish that takes hours to prepare and speaks of care and occasion. It conveyed a message without words: you matter; you are worth the effort.

The table was set. The living room was warm. It was just the four of us, sitting down to a meal prepared with intention. There were no crowd, no extended family, and no neighbours dropping by. It was a quiet evening of sharing dishes and conversation, learning about one another through the small exchanges that happen when you share food.

As I sat there, I realised this was its own kind of welcome. Not the boisterous gathering I had sometimes imagined, but something quieter that asked for nothing other than our presence with each other.

And I thought: this is the same.

Not identical, of course, not in form, but in feeling. In the willingness to open your home and your table, in the decision to create something beautiful for someone you are still getting to know, and in the unspoken message that travels across the table in any language: you are welcome here. You belong.

They were people who had lived through a different history than mine, facing different struggles, joys, and political realities. Yet, the language of their welcome resonated with the lessons I had learned on my grandmother's kitchen floor, in my mother's kitchen in Doha, and in the homes we made across the World. No crowds were needed; just presence.

These Vanilla Infused Coconut Raspberry Doughnuts are a celebration of connection and belonging.

They are for the parents who bring home wherever they go, ensuring their children never feel homeless.

For the grandmothers whose kitchens serve as classrooms, even during those brief summer and winter visits.

For the aunties who press sweets into our hands upon our arrival and again at our departure.

For the friends made in places that were never meant to be permanent but became permanent anyway.

For the families we are born into and the families we find along the way.

For my husband's mother, who welcomed a daughter from across the world with Rinderrouladen and quiet warmth, making her feel like she had always belonged. For the neighbours who helped build a home with their own hands. For friends who become family and uninvited strangers who are welcomed in and stay.

For every table that always has room for one more, even when it’s just the four of us.

For every child who grew up between worlds and learned somehow how to make a home in all of them.

These doughnuts celebrate all of this.

The vanilla in the dough serves as the foundation: warm, steady, the note that holds everything together. It represents the patience of generations and the quiet continuity of love passed down, even across oceans and years.

The coconut in the cream adds something different and unexpected, like being welcomed in a foreign country, in a language you’ve learned to speak, by people who have determined that you matter.

The raspberry jam at the centre is the joy of recognition, the moment you realise, “Oh, they love as we love; it just sounds different.”

The coating of toasted coconut and coconut blossom sugar gives a crisp and warm texture, reminding us of memory, the crunch of something familiar and the sweetness of belonging.

Sometimes we forget that community is not an abstract notion. It’s not merely a word we post about or a sentiment we share and move on from.

Community is the person who brings you food when you’re sick, the neighbour who shows up on a weekend to lend a hand, the friend who arrives without being asked, and the stranger who becomes family because someone decided that love is a verb.

I learned this in my mother’s kitchen, wherever that might have been.

I learned it in my grandmother’s kitchen, during the summers and winters I was fortunate enough to spend there.

I learned it again in Germany, sitting at a quiet table with just the four of us, understanding what it means to feel welcomed.

And I am still learning it. Every time someone new walks through my door. Every time I set a plate in front of them. Each reminder that the purpose of creating something beautiful is not the creation itself but who you share it with.

These doughnuts are my offering for this month's Monthly Mingle: a celebration of 20 years of blogging, yes, but more than that, a toast to the friends and connections who have gathered around this table, virtual and real, across all these years.

Vanilla Infused Coconut Raspberry Doughnuts

Print Recipe

By Meeta K. Wolff
Prep Time: 45 min
Total Time: 3 hours (includes rising time)
Serves: Makes 12-14 doughnuts

Ingredients

For the Vanilla-Infused Yeasted Dough

• 250 g whole milk
• 15 g vanilla bean paste, or 1 whole vanilla bean, split and scraped
• 500 g strong white bread flour (or plain all-purpose flour)
• 7 g fine sea salt
• 50 g granulated sugar
• 10 g instant yeast (or 12 g active dry yeast)
• 2 large eggs (about 100 g total), at room temperature
• 60 g unsalted butter, very soft
• Vegetable or canola oil, for deep frying

For the Coconut Cream Filling

• 1 can (400 ml) full-fat coconut milk, chilled overnight
• 25 g powdered sugar, sifted
• 2 g vanilla extract (about ½ teaspoon)
• 30 g cream of coconut (like Coco López), optional but recommended
• Pinch of fine sea salt

For the Coating

• 85 g unsweetened shredded coconut
• 100 g coconut blossom sugar
• Pinch of fine sea salt

Also Needed

• 250-300 g good-quality raspberry jam, for filling
• 12-14 raspberries
• Piping bags
• Small round piping tip (about 3-4 mm)
• Round cutter (about 7-8 cm)
• Baking sheet lined with parchment paper
• Deep-fry thermometer

Method

1. Infuse the milk
   In a small saucepan, warm the milk with the vanilla bean paste (or scraped seeds and pod) until steam rises. Remove from heat, cover, and let steep for 30 minutes. If using a whole bean, remove the pod after steeping. The milk should be lukewarm before using, about 37°C or comfortably warm to the touch.
2. Make the dough
   In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the dough hook, combine the flour, salt, sugar, and instant yeast. (If using active dry yeast, proof it first in a little of the warm milk with a pinch of sugar until foamy.) Add the infused milk and the eggs. Mix on low speed until the dough comes together, about 2 minutes. Increase to medium speed and knead for 5-7 minutes until the dough is smooth and elastic. With the mixer running, add the soft butter a little at a time, waiting until each addition is incorporated before adding more. Knead for another 3-4 minutes until the dough is silky, supple, and cleans the sides of the bowl. It will be soft and slightly tacky but not sticky.
3. First rise
   Shape the dough into a ball and place it in a lightly oiled bowl. Cover with plastic wrap or a damp tea towel and let rise in a warm place until doubled in size, about 1-1½ hours.
4. Make the coconut cream filling
   While the dough rises, open the chilled can of coconut milk. Scoop out the thick, solid cream that has risen to the top, about 120-180 g. Reserve the watery liquid for another use. In a small bowl, whip the coconut cream with the powdered sugar, vanilla, cream of coconut (if using), and salt until smooth and fluffy. Refrigerate until ready to use.
5. Shape the doughnuts
   Turn the risen dough out onto a lightly floured surface. Gently deflate it, then roll it out to about 1 cm thickness. Using a 7-8 cm round cutter, cut out as many rounds as you can. Gather the scraps gently, re-roll, and cut again. Place the rounds on a parchment-lined baking sheet, leaving space between them for the second rise. Cover loosely with plastic wrap or a tea towel and let rise for 30-45 minutes until puffed and pillowy. They should hold a fingerprint when gently pressed.
6. Prepare the coating
   In a dry skillet over medium heat, toast the shredded coconut, stirring constantly, until golden and fragrant, about 3-4 minutes. Watch carefully; it burns quickly. Transfer immediately to a shallow bowl and let cool. In a small bowl, combine the coconut blossom sugar with a pinch of salt, breaking up any lumps with your fingers.
7. Heat the oil
   Pour about 7-8 cm of oil into a heavy-bottomed pot or Dutch oven. Heat to 175°C. Line a baking sheet with paper towels or a wire rack.
8. Fry the doughnuts
   Working in batches of 3-4 (do not overcrowd), carefully lower the risen dough rounds into the hot oil. Fry for 2-3 minutes per side, turning once, until deep golden brown and cooked through. They should puff beautifully and feel light. Use a slotted spoon to transfer to the prepared baking sheet to drain briefly, just 30 seconds or so, while still hot.
9. Coat the doughnuts
   While still warm, toss each doughnut first in the toasted coconut (press gently to help it adhere), then immediately in the coconut blossom sugar. The sugar will stick to the warm, coconut-dusted surface. Set aside on a rack to cool completely.
10. Fill the doughnuts
    Once completely cool, fit a piping bag with a small round tip and fill it with the raspberry jam. Use a separate bag for the coconut cream. Insert the tip into the side of each doughnut and pipe about 10-15 g of jam into the center; you will feel the doughnut plump slightly. Repeat with the coconut cream, piping into a different spot so the two fillings mingle but remain distinct. Alternatively, for a more dramatic bite, pipe jam into one side and coconut cream into the other. Then place a fresh rasperry at the tip of the piped side.
11. Serve
    These are best the day they are made, but you can store unfilled doughnuts in an airtight container for a day and fill just before serving.

---

Verdict

The first bite is all texture: the delicate crunch of toasted coconut and caramelized coconut sugar giving way to a cloud-soft, vanilla-kissed dough. Then comes the surprise—a double filling of lush coconut cream and bright raspberry jam that mingles on your tongue like an unexpected meeting of old friends. It is sweet but not cloying, rich but somehow still light, and finished with a warmth that lingers. These are doughnuts that ask you to slow down and savor, preferably in good company.

Make it for your people: for the family you were born into and the family you have chosen, for the neighbours who have become essential, and for those who welcomed you when you were a stranger. Make it for those you are learning to welcome still.

Make it for every place you have ever called home.

Then, sit down together. Eat. Talk, or do not talk. Just be present.

Because the only thing more powerful than anything else in this world is the simple, radical act of showing up for one another.

That is what my parents taught me through all those moves, without ever uttering a word.

That is what my husband's mother taught me across a table set for four.

And that is what these doughnuts taste like when you make them with love.

You might like these sweet treats from WFLH:

Cardamom And Orange Infused Quark Doughnuts	Semlor - Swedish Cream Buns	Poppy Seed and Chai Mini Cakes with a Chai Cream Glaze

---

All photographs and written content on What's For Lunch, Honey? © 2006-2026 Meeta Khurana Wolff unless otherwise indicated. | All rights reserved | Please Ask First