I have an obsession. An addiction really. I’m not proud of it, but try as I may, and no matter how hard I fight it, I am an apple cider donut addict.
If you’ve never had an apple cider donut, you’ve never lived. And I don’t mean one from a grocery store. I mean a fresh, hot one made under slightly questionable, possibly unsanitary circumstances.
Coated in big sugar granules. Springy, yet crunchy and pure heaven.
Every fall I crave them. Some people want pumpkin spice lattes. I want my freakin’ donut!
Last week, my husband and I drove out to our usual supplier, but they haven’t rebuilt yet from hurricane Irene. But we would not be dissuaded. We were on a quest! A crusade! The search for the Holy Donut! So, we drove thirty minutes to another supplier. As we pulled in, the billboard perched on the barn showed happy people eating donuts. We ran inside, full of hope and joy… and they were out. The glass cases reflecting the emptiness of my donut-deprived soul. I almost cried, and my only consolation was a twenty-minute trip to buy the grocery store kind. We were driving for two-and-a-half hours for these stinkin’ donuts, and all I could get was mass produced. It was a black day in our house.
Now we’re in Lancaster where there are lots of Amish, and I finally got my donuts. They melted in my addicted little mouth like the sugary crack they are. I mean, I don’t really know if crack would melt in your mouth, but these donuts did.
It took about four hours in the car and weeks of craving, but I found my prize, and here is a limerick and a haiku in honor of my donut addiction.
There comes a strange feeling each fall,
One that I cannot fight at all,
For the donuts I crave,
None but cider can stave,
To them bleeding even I’d crawl
Apples make you sweet,
I cannot live without you,
My cider donut.