Fried Dough Snobbery

If I walk from my house to the closest subway station, I pass a Dunkin Donuts. If I walk from my house to the next closest subway station, I pass another Dunkin Donuts. In Manhattan, from the subway to office, I pass two. If I take the long way, get some exercise, I pass four. If I take the express train to my weekly therapist appointment, there is one I pass on the Brooklyn side, then another two once I get to Manhattan. The local, the same.

I’ve never stopped. I want to, but I wouldn’t. Dunkin Donuts are bad for you. Junk.

But. There is another doughnut place that I walk by once a week on my way to a friend’s. It’s a small shop and you can watch the doughnut makers make the doughnuts through a window. The flavors include chocolate earl grey and blood orange and hibiscus. Attractive people line up to pay $2.25 for a donut. Sometimes I do, too, usually whenever I walk by, because I always want doughnuts, every minute of every day. And these are like, artisanal. Natural, probably. Organic, maybe. These aren’t bad for you. How could they be.

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