Aside from the random doughnut I eat on shift or bring home at the end of the night, I’ve not had a good doughnut in forever (yes, that was a little dig at Starbucks’ doughnuts).
When I say good doughnuts, I’m referring to the incomparable taste of hot now, fresh, Krispy Kreme doughnuts.
Bliss.
My first memories stem from 1st grade. I went once a week to art class and music class, and the biggest treat was to stop for fresh doughnuts on the way home. It was especially wonderful if it was raining outside during the doughnut-making process; the combination of cold and wet outside with warm and soft inside was just heaven.
For those of you poor, poor people who have never had a chance to visit, Krispy Kreme is no ordinary doughnut shop. They make their doughnuts on-site, and their stores are known for having huge picture windows where you can watch the freshly-cooked doughnuts be covered in glaze and boxed up. When this process is occurring, a light goes on outside:
Yeah, it’s pretty amazing.
My next memory is from a few years ago. It’s not the greatest memory, but even this can’t diminish my love for these special pieces of fried dough. Suffice it to say, four people should not split a dozen Krispy Kremes on otherwise empty stomaches before going in to see an IMAX Dome presentation of “Extreme.”
Moving on.
Over the last year, one of my wonderful coworkers would bring fresh, hot Krispy Kremes to Bible Study on the mornings she had snack duty. Wow, my mouth is watering.
What, your mouth isn’t watering? Oh, let’s do something about that.
That’s better.
Okay, last memory is of this Christmas. As a special surprise for the family, my little brother purchased a voucher for a dozen Krispy Kreme doughnuts for our Christmas morning breakfast. Well, wouldn’t you know that the “land of no Internet” is also the land that Krispy Kreme forgot. So, we instead had them when we came home and did our traditional “January Stocking Exchange.” They were so good!
There you have it, some of my favourite childhood doughnut memories.
Eh, let’s end with a kick, shall we?
Miss Woodhouse's Musings 