Is there anything more distinctly American than a piece of sugary bread fried in fat and served topped or injected with additional sugar and fat? Donuts are almost exclusively an early-morning pleasure, tied to hangovers and coffee and disheveled, pre-shower trips to the local store or pre-work attempts at pseudo-breakfast fortification. I'm salivating already, thinking of that first sleepy bite, teeth crunching through the crackling crust of glaze into the pillowy soft flesh of a yeasty 'nut.
Thanks go to the Dutch for introducing the donut to American shores. In the early days, it was just a "nut" of "dough," without the distinctive ring shape. Legends surround the origin of the hole, but the fact that donuts were notorious for undercooked centers probably explains the change in shape. Just about all donuts fall into one of two varieties: yeast-raised — including the classic glazed doughnut — and unraised "cake."
When I lived in Atlanta, there was a Krispy Kreme on every corner. Contrary to what devotees may tell you, Krispy Kreme does not make the best doughnuts in the world. Except, well, for one thing: When the sign starts blinking "Hot Donuts Now," let nothing in the world prevent you from immediately pulling over for a couple of glazed. Hot Krispy Kremes are sublime, so airy that each bite dissolves in your mouth with a puff of yeasty sugar. They go down so easily, it's like drinking a donut.
When I lived in Boston, there was a Dunkin' Donuts on every block. There are just two things to remember when it comes to Dunkies — the coffee isn't nearly as good as they claim, and the donuts are rarely made in the storefront. Yep, the "time to make the donuts" guy now punches a clock in a regional baking facility with a bunch of other sleepy factory workers; product is then shipped out to local branches. The results aren't necessarily bad, but they aren't especially good, either. You might as well buy a Red Bull and Snickers at the quickie mart.
Dunkies has invaded the Bay area over the last decade, taking over local joints with abandon. When I started calling independent donut shops, more than half of the places on my list answered with the same, chilling refrain: "Dunkin' Donuts. Can I help you?" Uh, no thanks.
Yeah, that's not for me. Only the local joints, worked by individuals who put their own special touches into every batch, every morning, six or seven days a week, can satisfy people who truly pay attention to these holy pastries. Here's a rundown of the Bay area's few surviving independent donut shops.
Lighthouse Donuts 4 stars
215 Gulf Blvd., Indian Rocks Beach, 727-517-8722, 6 a.m.-1 p.m. daily.
Unless you live out near the beach, or are heading for an early tanning session, Lighthouse is a bit out of most people's way. Make it a destination.
Shoehorned into an old wooden house, Lighthouse has been making fresh donuts for over eight years. You can sit inside, which can get cramped when the joint is jumping, or take the newspaper, coffee and pastry out to the covered wooden deck at the back of the parking lot. Even better, grab a dozen and head across the street to the beach. It'll remind you why you live in Florida.
That was Matthew and Janice McGarry's point when they opened the shop. After 20 years in rubber hose manufacturing and sales — and another few renting beach cottages — Matthew got tired of walking a mile in the morning for a cup of gas station coffee. In his youth, he'd cooked donuts as a summer job. Now, he caters to Indian Rocks Beach locals, with prices geared more toward daily working folk than beach-going tourists.
Although I might ask for a little more lift in Lighthouse's raised donuts, the pillowy-soft texture is nigh perfect, and each bite comes with a noticeable waft of yeast. The cake-style donuts are even better, crumbly but moist, soft but hefty. You can tell that the McGarrys aren't into assembly-line donut manufacturing, as most batches show signs of little imperfections that make them all the better: an extra-thick layer of glaze here, some folds and creases that crinkle from the fry there, and darker surface caramelization across the board. They look, and taste, loved.
You'll love 'em when you eat them, too. All the donuts are worth it, but the best are the earthy and dark double chocolate and the plain glazed. Lighthouse also makes some of the best coffee I've had at a neighborhood donut joint, along with store-made breads and bagels.
Nicola's 4 stars
902 W. Busch Blvd., Tampa, 813-932-1303 or nicolasdonuts.com, 5:30 a.m.-noon daily.
The most important piece of information you need about Nicola's is to ignore the hours posted on the door. Open until noon? Unlikely. The fine folk at Nicola's close the doors when they run out of donuts, which they do just about every day of the week, often by 10 a.m. or earlier. If you need a dozen without fail, either head out before 8 a.m. or call the day before — up until 10 p.m. — and leave a message with your order.
It's worth the extra effort to get a dozen of Nicola's beauties. The raised donuts are full of air but with a surprising amount of chewy density, easily the best in Hillsborough. The cake donuts aren't that good, but still good enough, especially a double chocolate that manages a good mixture of milk and dark flavor.
Nicola's also offers occasional specials, like the decadent peanut butter and jelly filled or the equally tasty chocolate glazed strawberry. Both are worth a special trip when they're in season.
Fray's Donuts 3 stars
5236 16th St. N., St. Petersburg, 727-528-1410, 5 a.m.-2 p.m. daily.
Fray's has ties to Pinellas donut history. Its former location in St. Pete's Grand Central district had housed a donut shop since 1947, first a Krispy Kreme, then a series of independent operators over six decades. Fray's was one of the latest donut incarnations in the spot, until the owners moved the restaurant to 16th Street a few years ago.
Despite the move, the current building is another classic, its 1960s-style sloped roof a common feature of many longstanding Florida donut joints. It feels old inside, too, spacious and diner-esque.
Fray's donuts are slightly better than average, with doughy raised styles that almost achieve a note of airy lift. Oddly, the jelly-filled are lighter than the glazed, the donut disappearing into the mash of bright red glucose. Sour cream is one of the best options here, the extra outcroppings crunchy and exceptionally rich.
Hole In One Donut 3 stars
14406 N. Florida Ave., Tampa, 813-963-6207, 5 a.m.-1 p.m. daily.
Hole in One is an offshoot of a very successful Plant City donut joint, utilizing the same recipes and styles. Although reasonably solid across the display case, the only 'nuts to really shine here are glazed. Pick up one of the sugary yeast-raised and it seems lighter than air; bite into it and it sinks effortlessly under your teeth. Once you compress it in your mouth, though, there's also serious chew. The glaze could use an overhaul — it crumbles off the donut in sheets of sugar that'll have you picking at your clothes and car seat for hours. Still, Hole In One is one of the only Bay area donut joints that gets the concept of lift.
Otherwise, the cake donuts are fine but featureless, the chocolate icing is atrocious, and the jelly filling is worse. One of the best edibles at Hole In One isn't even a donut — it's a pig-in-a-blanket. Seemingly made from the same yeasty, albeit less sweet, dough as the raised donuts, these glossy bundles of bread are stuffed with a standard beef dog, a bounty of cheddar cheese and a heap of spicy sliced jalapenos, all for just $1.35. The proprietors keep a big bottle of Sriracha hot sauce on the counter for anyone who wants to amp his dog even further or accent the simple deli sandwiches the store serves.
That and a couple of glazed make Hole In One worth a visit, as long as you're willing to sacrifice other flavors of donut-y goodness.
Donut Connection 2.5 stars
649 34th St., St. Petersburg, 727-323-1910, 5 a.m.-7 p.m. daily.
Pull up in front on a weekday morning, and Donut Connection just feels like the right place to be. There'll be a few elderly gentlemen out front, cigars and coffee in hand, decked out in reminders of military service, just shootin' the shit and nodding at customers. Like Fray's, the interior is reminiscent of a diner, yellowed a bit with age and smelling like fresh bread and burnt coffee.
Besides the atmosphere, though, the donuts are nothing special. The yeast 'nuts are more like donut buns than fluffy delights, while the cake varieties are delicate enough to be almost indistinguishable from some of the raised. The jelly is classic neon fruit, and the chocolate is rich enough to elevate some of the 'nuts, but the overall impression is standard and a bit bland.
Even so, Donut Connection is a step above the stuff available at the Dunkies across the street. Maybe your best bet is to pick up a bag or two of the dozen day-old donuts for $2 that sit on the counter and make a big dish of my patented donut bread pudding. Or donut French toast. Or even a donut burger.
This article appears in Sep 10-16, 2008.