Donut!

The truth is that aside from, say, M&Ms and Dr. Pepper, I'm not much for sweets in most cases.* (You may hate me now if that is your way.) When I was a kid it was different. No disrespect to Mom, who makes some great cookies, but it was Grandma Burros that spoiled me. I used to bogart her brownies when we visited. They were a compulsion, like you get from those guys with the spiral hypno-wheels on their hats. (I run into those guys all the time. Sorry about the sugar in your gas tank, BTW. I WAS HYPNOTIZED!!) But the best, the best ever, were the donuts. Grandma made these insane cake donuts that were dense with super-goodness. They were tasty and filling but not overly sweet. She used to save bread bags and fill them with donuts, send them with my uncles when they went deer hunting (my uncles have been known to hunt via the pickup method, which involves them driving around on the property in their trucks, stopping when they meet each other to ask each other if they've seen anything. Authorities please note that they would of course never shoot at a deer from inside the car, as that would be quite illegal) and with us when we went home after a visit. Mm, those donuts. No one else does them quite as good, although Lane's Bakery in Madison comes closest.

Anyway, because the perfect cake donut is a lost artifact of the past, I'm not much of a donut guy. Krispy Kreme is just Not Right. I mean, what is that? Some kind of Wonder donut? Once in a while, though--and I'm talking every 4-6 months--I get a craving for a Bavarian Creme from Dunkin' Donuts. It satisfies some primal semi-annual need. For a couple of weeks now I've been trying, unsuccessfully, to buy one. (Yeah, just one. The counter person always looks so sad when I tell them this.) The problem is I don't want donuts in the morning. That's not the way to start out the day, with a big ol' sugar bomb. And every afternoon I stop by one of the three-count-'em-three Dunkin' Donuts franchises between the office and the train station (Chicago, fat? That's unpossible!) to ask for a Bavarian Creme. The counter person smiles and says Of course and looks in the trays, which are empty of Bavarian Cremes. Sometimes they wander in back, I guess to see if the Bavarians have left for the day. Every time I have been left bereft.

Dramatic sigh.

It's all about the quest, though. I will, before long, be satisfied in my search. And then, in 4 to 6 months, I will take it up again. This is my story.

Have you slipped into a sugar coma yet? If not, here's a video of elephants swimming. I kind of wish those guys would get off their backs, though.

*There is also the bread pudding which I make every year for Christmas Eve, which is now a controlled substance in several Minnesota counties.

Celeste Simon's Window

Celeste Simon's Window
Originally uploaded by Snurri.

"One of those displaced was the Swiss diva Celeste Simon, who was in the city for a four-week engagement of 'Il Seraglio.' Her handlers made several increasingly desperate attempts to find a way out of the city, but were no more successful than any of those innocents whose only crime was being in the wrong place at the wrong time . . . . In the end one of the Lumina Opera board members installed her in a second-floor apartment at 2477 West Cagliari Street, near the Farmer's Market. For months she hardly stirred, wearing a housecoat over a silk nightgown given to her by her lover, who had left just two days before the Banishing to prepare her Alpine chalet. . . . As life within the city began to normalize, the opera board began to entreat Simon to become a permanent part of the company, but she declined. They persisted, and on May 15, 1968 the entire board assembled at the Cagliari Street location to confront her. Celeste's odor was profound, and her hair lay matted to the sides of her head in great bales. Her housecoat and gown were stained with sweat and grime. She said nothing as the board's spokesman pleaded with her, not failing to point out that her very lodgings were a result of their generosity. For answer, Celeste, still in her housecoat, stormed to the window and threw it open. She took up a lamp and knocked out the screen. . . . The board members were certain she was about to hurl herself out, but instead she leaned out above the market crowd and launched into Orpheus' aria from Orpheus and Eurydice, "Che farò senza Euridice?" Every face in the crowd looked up at her. Traffic stopped. When she finished, there was no one in earshot who was not in tears. . . . From that day Celeste sang every morning, regardless of weather or other circumstances. These free concerts endeared her to the public, most of whom had never seen an opera, but all of whom were willing captives to the magic of her voice. They would gather at dawn in order to find a place outside her window, and when she completed her daily concerts they lauded her with such genuine emotion that Celeste could not help but be moved in turn. Over time she began to take better care of herself, addressing her hygiene and dressing with her formerly accustomed elegance. . . . The opera board desisted in their threats of eviction. They still entreated her to appear in their productions, but she refused. . . . On May 5, 1981, Celeste failed to appear at her window as she had for nearly thirteen years. She had died in her sleep. Her funeral was attended by an estimated 800,000 citizens; her grave, at Buchanan Cemetery, is still visited daily. . . . Today her apartments are occupied by a well-regarded voice coach, although her window is rarely opened." (p.414)