Tag Archives: donuts

Donuts: an ode and lament

1 Nov

I just want to start out by saying that normally, I eat pretty healthy. Lots of veggies (lima beans are my favorite!) and fruit, yogurt, oatmeal and the like. But I do have a sweet tooth.

Do I ever!

One of the most glorious sweet things in the entire world is the American donut.

OH YUM

My adoration for this kind of donut might be a small factor in why I’m consistently disappointed by “foreign donuts.” I know, that makes me racist or stuck up or whatever, and one of the first things I made myself learn about new food is to never compare. I’ve stuck with this rule for almost everything I’ve eaten overseas. BUT. I simply cannot hear the word donut without picturing and then craving these above delicacies.

I have two donut stories for you. The first takes place in Budapest. It was there a beautiful Polish lady took me out for a donut one day, having heard of my adoration for the sugary rounds of dough. We ventured across the Danube to the Hungarian Market, a huge open-air building bustling with vendors and shoppers.

We came to a pastry stand and asked for a donut in broken Hungarian. The elderly man inside smiled and pointed at a large pastry totally devoid of a hole.

“No,” I whispered to Edyta,”that’s not a donut. Ask him for a donut.” But after a few confused minutes, we were assured that was indeed a Hungarian donut and that I could choose from either chocolate or “yellow” filling. Okay. Chocolate it is.

Who knows what my finger is doing…

It was a very nice pastry. Puffy but substantial, filled with a cross between hot fudge and pudding. But as I ate it, all I saw was the conveyor belt of donuts at Krispy Kreme, freshly baked and shining with glaze.

Strike one.

My second story is far more depressing. It took place last spring in Tokyo. One early morning, my friends and I were crammed into the metro full of commuters on their Nokia phones and Nintendo DS’s. We’d had a late night and missed breakfast that day.

In order to boost moral, someone suggested a trip to Mr. Donut. My tired self perked up immediately. HECK TO THE YES, MR. DONUT.

I don’t have a picture of the donut I bought there, possibly because I was crying too hard to find my camera. But it looked like a donut. No sprinkles, mind you, but icing, yes. Glaze, even. Yet this poor donut had no discernible sugar to my overly saturated taste buds. The icing was even a bitter dark chocolate. I ate it because I was hungry, but it meant nothing to me but energy for walking the streets of downtown Tokyo.

Here’s to you, Japan: I ate some of the best food I’ve ever tasted among your alleyways. Your ramen is to die for. I mean, you’re the birthplace of sushi! But your donuts?

Strike two.

Disclaimer: this post is meant to be humorous. My apologies if you are offended. Go buy yourself a donut.
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