Memory and Mystery of Appetite for Doughnuts

Maturity and enlightened self-awareness come to each of us after tremendous struggles; some are grand moral battles, others tiny skirmishes of will.

On the interior battleground, we fight moral turpitude and sloth. We do our jobs, vacuum regularly and send the kids back to the sink to floss again. We don’t cheat, steal or lie, except the occasional lie to protect someone’s feelings, which we then call tact. And we fight tendencies to overindulge.

A measure of maturity is in beating back the forces of imprudence most of the time. A measure of enlightened self-awareness is in admitting that we fail the rest of the time. And admitting that virtue is usually no fun at all.

In fact, it often comes at great cost. It was that way for me. It took years to develop the willpower to let go of my favorite vice. In the end, I did. But it was a Pyrrhic victory, for I had to give up doughnuts.

I’ve heard all the arguments against this edibly incorrect food. I know that if you laid celery end to end from here to Jupiter, there would be a lower fat content than can be found in one glazed doughnut.

But then, there’s a doughnut shop on nearly every street in the county and not a single celery store. That’s because doughnuts taste great, while celery needs a doughnut’s worth of fat from peanut butter or cream cheese to compete.

Not everyone agrees. Staff writer Leonard Reed, who wrote this week’s Centerpiece story on my favorite former vice, is not a cruller advocate.

“I don’t get the doughnut thing,” he said. “Take a floury lump, deep fry it so it soaks in saturated and trans-saturated fats, then cover it with sugar or chocolate, and slam-dunk the thing in coffee. Blood sugar soars. Caffeine kicks in. And then, That Lump: The sickly dull thumb of force somewhere between the stomach and the chest, the dark weight of the thing making it very clear ‘You will never, ever digest me.’ The true doughnut hound at this point has another, as if to move things along. Thanks, I’ll pass.”

Does this mean that Reed hasn’t experienced doughnut Nirvana?

“OK, I have taken my doughnut pleasures before. A soft, hot, yeast-risen glazed at 2 a.m. is, surely, a comfort food: Like macaroni and cheese and ‘Father Knows Best,’ you just know things will be all right.

“But can such moments account for 73 shops in Ventura County? I think not. And so I just don’t get it. At Foster’s on Main in Ventura, for example, they actually make a chocolate old-fashioned, glaze it, cover it with melted chocolate and stud it with chocolate bits. The thing weighs perhaps a third of a pound. It frightens me. Who would eat this? And why?

“Like the doughnut itself, it’s an eternal mystery.”

Not to me.

But then, there’s a doughnut shop on nearly every street in the county and not a single celery store.