Ode to a Donut
I've decided to live for awhile off the capital of the physical activity I did at the beach last week by starting every morning with a donut to go with my coffee. The coffee is there out of habit; I started drinking it in the hope it would improve mental alertness in the morning. It now serves mainly as an oral pacifier. It's especially useful during meetings because you can disguise inappropriate emotions (such as anger or laughter) with a sudden lurch towards the cup. A co-worker refers to coffee as his "morning Guinness" but that is a tremendous insult to the Dublin brewer.
But this donut thing is new and entirely different. I don't know much about donuts, never having much of a history with them, but let me tell you: they are good. I had a white-topped one today with cream filling and the juxtaposition of textures and the symphony of sweetnesses is something hard to describe. I nearly swooned at the scent of vanilla that was unexpectedly encountered just before taking a bite.
Needless to say, I'd better grab the jogging shoes.
Update: Bill Luse dashes cold water via email: "Some people don't realize that the risen dough of a doughnut (of the kind, anyway, that most people scarf like popcorn) is not baked, but fried in deep fat like french fries. I'd advise not thinking about that while you're eating them."
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