My Uncle Johnny’s Donkey Fazouu Isn’t Just a Casserole—It’s Family Legend

The name came from my Uncle Johnny.

When he was a kid, the first time he saw the dish steaming hot, oddly lumpy, topped with golden Tater Tots, he scrunched up his face and declared, “What is this!? Donkey Fazouu?”

Nobody knew what that meant. We still don’t: Uncle Johnny has always had a stoic streak, so his summoning a goofy name made it stick all the more. And with that name, the recipe.

At its heart, Donkey Fazouu is a classic Midwestern casserole: ground beef browned with onion, stirred into cream of mushroom soup, maybe a handful of frozen veggies tossed in if someone’s feeling virtuous. And on top? A glorious, crunchy blanket of Tater Tots, baked until they reach that golden, cratered perfection. We always make it in the same dish: slightly chipped at the edges, eternally dependable.

It’s not glamorous. It’s not trying to be. But it shows up.

In my family, Donkey Fazouu appears when no one feels like cooking. When someone gets bad news. When we are all too tired or sad or human to whip up anything with more ambition. It’s the dish we reach for when we want something that tastes like home.

And somehow, it always delivers.

Casseroles are funny that way. They’re rarely the centerpiece of a holiday spread. You don’t center your birthday party around one. But they’re always in the center of the table. Warm, easy, and always generous. A casserole says: I made something for you. It’s a culinary hug folded into a well-worn dish. 

Every family has its version. Some call it “Tuna Wiggle” or “Aunt Bab’s Spaghetti.” The names make no sense to anyone else, but they’re gospel in the family.

And those goofy names? They’re what make the dish sacred. Once something gets a name like “Donkey Fazouu,” it’s been claimed. Made permanent. Turned into folklore. It stops being just a recipe, and it becomes part of your family’s weird little mythos. The kind of thing you mention in wedding toasts or tearful eulogies.

That permanence extends beyond the food. In our family, the dish itself, the literal bakeware carries weight. The one we use for Donkey Fazouu has been in the family for decades. It’s the CorningWare, of course, with those iconic blue cornflowers that practically scream “1950s kitchen.”

So it felt oddly poetic when I found myself far from home for an extended stay in Sweden this summer, and spotted a near-identical dish in a secondhand shop near Tylösand. White ceramic. Blue flowers around the rim. Not quite CorningWare, but close enough to make my heart catch a little.

I bought it immediately.

Later that night, I made a version of Donkey Fazouu (or something like it that took full advantage of the beautiful and bountiful local dairy and produce) for my fiancée and me. And as I slid it into a Swedish oven in our Swedish home, I thought: Someone here probably grew up with a recipe this soul-nourishing, too. Maybe they remember their mom placing it gently in the center of the table, something bubbling and browned and made with love. Maybe that recipe didn’t feature Tater Tots, but the feeling was the same.

Because that’s what this dish offers: a feeling.

It’s not fancy. It’s not impressive. It probably shouldn’t work, but it does. And it always shows up when it needs to. 

Donkey Fazouu reminds me that not everything sacred has to be serious. That comfort and absurdity can live on the same plate. That love often arrives wearing a layer of melted cheese.

It also prompts me to ask: What’s your Donkey Fazouu?

What’s the weirdly named, oddly comforting, never-written-down family recipe that makes your people laugh and then go back for seconds?

Ask your people. Tell your stories. These recipes, these funny, humble dishes, they’re part of the metaphorical family quilt that passes down from generation to generation.  

Because when you look back, you won’t remember the side salad. You’ll remember what was hot and heavy in the middle of the table.

The thing that wasn’t the centerpiece, but was always in the center.

Uncle Johnny’s Donkey Fazouu (aka Tater Tot Casserole)

Ingredients

• 1 lb ground beef
• 1 small onion, diced
• 1 can cream of mushroom soup
• 1/2 cup sour cream
• salt & pepper to taste
• 2 cups frozen mixed vegetables (Optional)
• 1 bag (32-ounce) frozen Tater Tots
• 1–2 cups shredded Cheddar cheese (Optional)

Directions

1. Preheat oven to 375 degrees F (190 degrees C).
2. Cook ground beef and onion in a skillet over medium heat until browned. Drain fat.
3. Stir in soup and sour cream. Add salt, pepper, and vegetables if using.
4. Pour into a greased 9×13-inch baking dish.
5. Top with Tater Tots in a single layer. Sprinkle cheese over the top (during the last 10 minutes of baking).
6. Bake in the preheated oven uncovered for 35–40 minutes, until hot and golden.
7. Let it rest for a few minutes before serving. Share the story if you’ve got one.