Doughnuts

A love song

I can’t recall to mind or palate my first doughnut. That ur-doughnut of memory lies farther back, in a primordial stew of other American staples: pizza, the grilled cheese sandwich, and chocolate chip cookies. I can recall faintly, as though by a still-lurking aroma of fryer oil, Fasnacht Day in primary school. That squishy mound of dough, though its name and hole-less appearance were new to me, required no explanation. I greedily grabbed one and took a huge bite, without a trace of my customary picky-eater’s hesitation. I see this same phenomenon now with my daughter. By some preternatural sense, common to young children it seems, she is able to discern without contact that a food belongs in the treat category. Simply by looking (smelling? Telepathy?) she knows that it will be delicious. Her apprehension melts, like hot Crisco, as a knowing smile blooms on her face. Through stuffed chipmunk cheeks, the smile redoubles. “Is it good?” I ask, glad that at least I will remember her first doughnut. She nods, speechless. No explanation necessary.

Doughnuts belong to the category of all-day-project, cookery that used to be reserved for Sundays and other sacred or cherished times in American life. Some of these traditions persist: barbecue and fried chicken come to mind. New traditions have joined the ranks—when I was a child the only acceptable kind of pizza was takeout. But from the inception of its mechanized production (credited to Adolph Levitt) to the proliferation of its strip mall purveyors, the doughnut has been imagined and consumed as something best left to professionals.

This status is a patchwork of innovation and circumstance. There is the blue-collar perfection of the Dunkin’ Donuts model, built on one of the all-time greats in food pairing: coffee and doughnuts. Vernon Rudolph (of Krispy Kreme) began selling doughnuts directly to individuals during production hours between midnight and 4:00 AM and convenience was added. This nocturnal association simultaneously buoys and sullies the doughnut’s legacy, favorite food of both the munchie-addled stoner and the coffee-manic cop hunting her. Yum-Yum Donuts sells lottery tickets, and in so doing scratches another itch. Sean Baker’s 2015 feature Tangerine portrays the (now closed) Donut Time as a respite, open 24 hours a day, for Santa Monica Boulevard’s sex workers. All of the developments and associations in the lexicon of American fried dough point to a core truth. The doughnut is a comfort enjoyed by those who find themselves away from the comforts of home.

So I set out, in a provisional way, to reclaim some of that comfort for my own couch. Everyone likes fried food. And many ravenous diners are eager, having left the restaurant, to recreate in their own kitchens. But precious few are willing to deep fry at home. This should change!

The dauntless home cook need not fear the doughnut. Stella’s recipe behaved exactly as expected. The bread/baking skills necessary are nominal, though obviously the equipment (a scale and a thermometer at minimum) is a hard prerequisite. The ‘unique’ and ‘rustic’ appearance of each hand-shaped doughnut was, as the recipe’s header promised, almost as alluring as their fluffy texture. The first couple batches were topped with cinnamon sugar and reminded me of the cider doughnuts that spring up for sale all over Lancaster County in the autumn. We slathered the remainder with a simple chocolate icing and topped with sprinkles.

Part of the success, and indeed the history, of commercial doughnut sales in the United States has been the eye-popping gleam of glass storefronts. There before our hungry eyes, dozens of technicolor flavors vie for one of the coveted 12 spots in a cardboard box. On my own plate, in the comfort of my own home, with a cup of coffee brewed to my own specifications, all that ostentatious variety was revealed for what it truly is. A good doughnut is one of those rare pleasures, like those other American staples, the quality of which plummets swiftly as soon as it swims its way out of the fryer. I never turn down such a doughnut, hours or even days after its cherry blossom greatness, when a box of them comes my way. But as with those other all-day-project foods, I can’t help but agree with Stella, that

“Few things taste more wonderful than a doughnut you’ve fried on your own.”

-Stella Parks, Bravetart