take three: donuts

There was this shop called Donut Dan at Warringah Mall on Sydney’s Northern Beaches (it might still be there, though reincarnated). Every time my sister and I walked by, we’d press our faces up against the window in awe. There was an automatic machine that plopped the dough in to the boiling fat! There was a conveyor belt that slid the cooked donuts into a divine mix of sugar and cinnamon! Oh, and the smell! The mouthwatering, stomach twanging aroma that made us turn our faces upwards and beg our parents for a taste! And, sometimes they even acquiesced. We’d plunge our teeth into the hot, humid deliciousness. We’d lick our fingers. We’d behave like ladies for a couple of nanoseconds after like we’d promised. It was a simple bliss. Things have moved on and donuts have become much more sophisticated (like these babies), though I still reckon I’d love the old school ones the best.