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DUPED INTO A FANCY DONUT

I wouldn't have noticed the place except for the buses idling permanently outside. Doughnut Plant is a tiny storefront on Grand Street in Manhattan's Lower East Side, unremarkable except for a sandwich-board advertising the day's donuts in brightly coloured chalk. The store is open from 6:30am until the donuts sell out, usually some time in the early evening. Tourist buses often park and disgorge passengers, who chose from a donut menu that includes Toasted Almond, Tres Leches, Chai, Carrot Cake and Creme Brulee.

Doughnut Plant lies directly between my apartment and the local grocery store, post office, coffee shop and library. I pass by it twice a day, on average. The idea of a gourmet donut holds about the same appeal to me as a foie-gras cheeseburger (it's so 2006). I'm opposed to spending more than a dollar on a single yeast-risen fried pastry, and Doughnut Plant charges upwards of $2 for their goods.

But hunger strikes unexpectedly, and so do cravings. It was only so long before the omnipresent sandwich board worked its way into my culinary subconscious. On my way home from the library yesterday I pivoted 180 degrees outside 379 Grand Street and stalked into Doughnut Plant. First observation: it didn't smell like donuts.

I asked for a Toasted Almond donut. Like the other donuts, it was funny-looking, like a Willy Wonka version of the coffee-shop classic. The filled donuts are square-shaped, which seems an odd choice at first but presumably allows for a more evenly distributed filling. There was no room to sit so I took my donut outside and ate it standing up.

It was good, I guess. Tasty. The toasted almond flavour was strong and reminiscent of the toasted almond popsicles that local ice cream trucks still sell for $1.50. I ate the donut slowly, evaluating and concluding that although it succeeded on metrics of sweetness and flavour, it failed to fulfill a certain crucial "donutty" requirement. My fingers were disappointingly grease-free at the end of the process, and the bag hadn't soaked through at all. There were no plastic seats where I could eat my donut and soak up the smell of mingling new and old grease.

Will I be tempted again? It seems only fair to give the Creme Brulee donut a shot. But not today. In the end, I prefer my breakfast pastries to be a little less Alice Waters (the donuts are "all natural"), a little more Homer Simpson.

~ MOLLY YOUNG

Picture credit: stu_spivak (via Flickr)