As readers and a loyal audience, you should have never let me roam outside the boundaries of Alive Magazines circulation. You see, I am an explorer, and the act of staying put resembles trying to herd cats. The most wonderful aspect of this article is whenever I do break the lock on my own kennel; my first thought is that I can’t wait to bring you all with me. Today we are going to Portland!
There is a belief—a philosophy if you will—that I have about doughnuts. Somewhere around toddler-hood, the deep connection between a kid and a doughnut is formed. Perhaps this even precedes physical memory, but that does not deter from the power that is generated. Then, as we grow and mature, we see the doughnuts as security. An item that brings nostalgia, comfort, understanding, does not change and will always be there for you when you need it most. In adulthood, we veer a little further off course and even lose our connection for a bit, while we look at the effects that pastries and sugars have on our aging bodies. We examine our intake to preserve our waistlines and start making crucial cuts. Doughnuts are the poster children for dropped habits. I believe that they are the first to go because we know that if ever we change our minds, they will be there, waiting for us. Never questioning where we have been, never wondering why it took us so long to get back, and probably served by the same person in a hair net that we knew from so very long ago,
I have recently arrived at an amazing part of my life. I am now in possession of the body that I will be buried with one day. No more 20lb swings in either direction—a little soft in the middle, but comfortable. I love what I am and it requires little effort, outside my current routine. This allowed me to shake hands again with my old friends; maple bar and chocolate old-fashioned, and oh, how I have missed them!
Last week, my wife, son and I took a quick pilgrimage to the Pacific North West. This trip served two purposes. One: I got to meet some people that will be carrying my book, “What Seems to Be the Problem?” in their stores and two: One last trip before we meet my daughter, set to arrive in April!
Here’s the skinny (great word here)—Kenneth “Cat Daddy,” Pogson and Tres Shannon are longtime friends. These two operate as one and always wanted to create a business in Portland. They landed on doughnuts as an un-tapped reservoir of “creativity meets business sense,” but how? They knew nothing about confections, so the two infiltrated LA and the doughnut masters that would teach them like samurais in the fine art of doughnut rolling, frying, flipping and creating. They returned to Portland with stories of fame and not only created amazing donuts, but shapes and styles. Dead body doughnuts filled with raspberry jam, frosting “Xs”over the eyes and pretzels protruding outward from the chest. Maple doughnuts with crushed Oreos, drizzled with peanut butter. Maple bars with bacon on top (ridiculously good food), and don’t get me started about the cream-filled éclair in the shape of man parts. But the best part is that each bite is cathartic. Something about the bright pink building with Mrs. Pac Man and pinball inside, the traditional doughnut shop smell of coffee, pastry and frosting, and “cash only” nuance secured our breakfast heaven.
We introduced my son that day to what I am sure will be a lifelong relationship to a food that will provide comfort when we can’t.
Voodoo Doughnuts, 22 SW 3rd Ave, Portland Oregon 503-241-4704