Malasadas have largely become something you buy at a certain bakery, stand in line for at a certain carnival or buy from a certain relative to support their school fundraiser.

For Henriette Valdez, malasadas are so much more — like a direct line to the heart of her family, connecting her with her great-grandmother’s generation and pulsing through the many branches of descending relatives. Her annual malasada-making party, a tradition she’s kept for 57 years, is about precise directions that are bound to be messed up, the particular kind of teasing that works only if it comes from love, and the wish for future generations to know the blessing of shared work.

Their Kailua house is hot and fragrant and packed with people.

“Sorry the house is so hot,” Larry, Henriette’s husband, says. “It’s so the yeast can rise.”

Henriette’s youngest brother, Robert Lopes, takes his position on a kitchen stool to roll out both insults and blessings. “You guys doing a good job!” he tells the dish-washing and butter- melting crew. But then he adds, “First time I seen any coordination from you folks.” As batches of freshly beaten eggs are carried past him to the waiting bowls of flour, Lopes tosses off a jaunty sign of the cross to bless the eggs. Someone notices that he missed some eggs. “Nah, I got them all. It’s a general blessing,” he says.

Industrial-size mixing bowls are set up on tables in the dining room. The menfolk are called upon to do the very physical work of pounding the dough. The room is so warm and the men get so sweaty. The women bring cool towels to wipe their brows and offer various good-natured insults about the efficacy of the kneading. They work in shifts, taking a break outside in the cool Kailua breeze when comrades come to take their place at the mixing bowls. This goes on for an hour. Henriette supervises everything, pointing an accusatory finger at perceived mistakes and falling for every bit of bait they put out for her.

“I get all excited. They tell me things that aren’t true just to get me going,” Henriette says and rolls her eyes. She loves this. They all love this.

Clarence and Nelly Medeiros have come from Kona special for this Malasada Day tradition. Clarence and Henriette are distant relatives — he found her a few years ago after doing extensive genealogy research. The first time they ever spoke, Henriette said, “You have to come for Malasada Day!” So they do. They fly up on Sunday and stay at the Valdezes’ house to help with the prep work. Henriette wants her family tradition to reach out to as many family members as possible. “When our granddaughter was baptized, Henriette sent the family christening gown for her to wear, something that has been in their family for generations. We were so moved. ” Nelly says. “So yeah, this is about malasadas, but it goes far beyond that.”

Malasada Day is the local Portuguese version of Fat Tuesday, the day of indulgence before the fasting season of Lent. There are people in Henriette’s kitchen who aren’t even related. It doesn’t really matter. This is more than malasadas, more than indulgence, more than family, even. There’s so much in those little fried balls of dough.

“I was telling Larry, ‘We’re the old folks now! We’re both 75! Maybe this is the last year we’ll do this,’” Henriette said. “And he said, ‘You say that every year. And look!’”

Reach Lee Cataluna at 529-4315 or lcataluna@staradvertiser.com.