My daughter asked for doughnuts as the sun rose this morning. Befuddled by sleep I vaguely recalled the job I had at a "mom and pop" doughnut shop during the summers on-and-off as a teen.
I remember the particular silence on the streets as I drove in to work, the sky an undecided grey as it slowly made its commitment to welcome the sun and the air as fresh as it would ever be.
When I'd arrive the baker had already been at it for hours and rack upon rack of old-fashioned, glazed, sugar-cinnamon, jelly and the distinctive crueller awaited me to place them on display.
The intoxicating smell, yeast and sugar, cinnamon and chocolate would linger in my clothing for a wash load or two afterward.
Friends and family would good- naturedly associate me, doughnut girl, with the popular advertisements from a certain popular doughnut purveyor.
So early that morning, when my eyes just barely cracked caught that familiar grey light in the early sky, I said, "Yes, let's have doughnuts."
I never knew specifically what ingredients went into the doughnuts I served all those years ago, but I found a great baked doughnut recipe on Krissy's Creations and came to realize, with the exception of the leavening it, was a lot like a pancake or waffle, which I've curmudgeonly groaned to my husband, who is all too happy to make them for the kids on the weekend, that it is just glorified cake, gosh darn it! Well I suppose a doughnut is too. But this morning they were extra special.
A bit of yeast and milk.
Sugar and spice and everything nice: butter, milk and egg.
Rise. Then bake.