June 2001

Better Than Krispy Kreme

Yesterday there were donuts. It was Donut Day for Evil Robots World HeadQuarters staff. Yesterday that consisted of just myself. I was working diligently creating content when I realized MY contentment depended upon devouring some fresh and tasty donuts.

What kind of donuts did I have? Was it Dunkin Donuts? No, better. Was it Krispy Kreme? No, maybe even better. Yesterday I went around the corner to Heller's Bakery. Heller's is located at the top of Mt. Pleasant St., which not coincidentally, is the main commercial street in my neighborhood: Mt. Pleasant.

What made these donuts so good? First of all, they tasted great. In the past few months I've had jelly filled, turnovers, cruelers, sticky buns, ham & cheese croissants, and of course the simple and stately plain glazed donut. The glazed are light and sweet. Very tasty. Not as heavy and filling as the gloriously deep fried Krispy Kreme.

The donuts are hot and fresh.

So the donuts are good. But there's much more to these donuts. First of all, I can make the Saturday Morning Donut Pilgrimage in just under five minutes. On foot. Down the elevator, through the lobby, out the door, and around the corner. So it's close.

Secondly, I am supporting a local business. Uppity obnoxious urban blowhards like myself enjoy doing that. It makes us feel so warm and special. Not at all like the soulless journey in our cars to a soulless strip mall to satisfy our donut fixes. We're just jerks like that.

Finally, the bakery in itself is something special. There is the customary glass display counter filled with fresh and delicious pastries. Often different choices every weekend. Always a savory surprise. I often have to leer at the baked beauties for five minutes before I can make my selections. In the meantime I grab a juice or a coffee and a paper. Then I fork over my cash and move on to my favorite part of my local bakery: the window-front counter.

I love the counter. I could opt for one of the few tables, but why? There's the counter. I pull up one of the stool, noisily slide if forward, and plop down my paper on the cool ceramic counter. I take my time, read the paper, and eat my donuts. This ritual is interrupted by several lengthy periods of starring out the window and just watching. Watching the people perambulating about, listening to the cars slowly making their way up the street on a lazy Saturday morning in Washington blaring various variations of salsa. This is the soundtrack of my neighborhood.

The bakery patronage reflects the broadness of ethnicities and wealth, or lack thereof, that comprises my neighborhood. People wonder in and out, saying hello or not. There are regulars, but most of the Saturday morning (for me, hovering around noon) customers, especially the ones at the sitting in the window, are fellow members of the Bed-Head Brigade. There is no time for showering when it's Time to Eat the Donuts. At the counter we quietly sit there and munch on our pastries and sip at our coffee, thoroughly engrossed, shifting our attention between our papers and the window. So, as you can imagine, this is pretty much the best place in the world to take a date. And not just because it's morning affair, either.

Dammit, I think I want to order a cake.