Ode to Doughnuts

I like doughnuts. To anyone who has ever spent time around me, this is certainly no revelation.

It’s like saying a duck likes to quack, or that a presidential candidate is full of beans.

When I’m not eating doughnuts, I talk about them. When I’m not talking about doughnuts, I think about them.

Every year at work, we have a staff meeting. My job is to supply doughnuts for the meeting. For weeks ahead of time, I patrol the city, seeking out doughnut sources and taste-testing the wares. Then, when the meeting day arrives, I make sure we have an adequate supply for our troops. I go to the bakery early to confer personally with the head doughnutter — that’s the technical term for the top guy — and test several doughnuts just to make sure the quality meets my exacting standards.

But there’s more to doughnuts that just eating them. They represent all that is good that you can make with flour, sugar and a deep-fat fryer. Throw in some artificial maple flavored frosting and some of that gooey vanilla cream that they inject into the middle of doughnuts and you’ve got the perfect food.

I could never get tired of doughnuts. There is no end to the variations on the theme.

For example, the greatest invention of the 21^st century is a double bacon cheeseburger that utilizes two Krispy Kreme doughnuts in place of a regular bun. Whoever came up with that was a genius on a par with Thomas Edison and — oh, what’s his name — Norman Einstein.

I have a suggestion to improve it: Take the whole thing, dip it in a coating of the stuff they put on corndogs and deep-fat fry it.

That’s what I’m talking about!

The other day I was in the People’s Republic of Portland and made a pilgrimage to Voodoo Doughnuts. I had read that they make the best doughnuts in Portland and had to test them out.

While I can’t say much about the neighborhood — winos and strip bars seem to dominate it — the doughnuts were good.  One, called the Grape Ape, was particularly good. I also heard that Brad Pitt has a favorite Voodoo creation that consists of bacon baked into a maple bar.

Now that’s my kind of cooking.

We bought a box of doughnuts and headed for my favorite part of the people’s republic, Powell’s Books. Across the street was an Elvis impersonator with a public address system and sign that said, “Elvis’ 2008 sidewalk tour.” He was working his way through his repertoire.

I didn’t have any money to give him, so I almost gave him a doughnut.

Almost.