Glazed and Enthused

Of Pancakes and Other Distant Cousins.

Undoubtedly, It is I and I alone who loses sleep over my Tumblr.  A humblr Tumblr has probably never seen the light of day than this, the shoddy-if-well-intentioned outgrowth of a lifelong obsession.  However, I would be lying if I said I *didn’t*.  Lose sleep, I mean.  What kind of neurotic donut blogger would I be otherwise?

What, you might ask, replaces those golden zzz’s?  Well:

A. What if I run out of things to say about donuts.

[I will]

B. What if donuts really ARE the new cupcakes and I fade into obsolescence?

[They are; I probably already have.]

C. I haven’t had a new donut in SEVERAL MONTHS.  What have I become?

[A fraud.]

&&&

All of this said, I gave it some good, long, caffeine-infused thought.  I realized that my donut-lust actually comes from a much broader context than just, well, DONUTS.  In fact, if I drew a Venn Diagram (comprised, of course, of oblong doughy ovals rather than just plain old circles), I’d most certainly find that the things I find attractive about donuts are MUCH the same as the things I find attractive about a) other pastries b) other Fried Round Things and c) almost ALL BREAKFAST FOODS.

Let’s get specific here.  If donuts are the new cupcake, PANCAKES just might be the new donut.  Or the old donut.  Regardless, a pancake - a friend roundling, not too sweet, perfect in texture, melts-in-your-mouth, makes most any gathering into a WYLDE PARTY - is pretty much the Cathy to donuts’ Patty Duke.  I mean, look at Nate The Great, a total gem of a kids’ book series.  I used to devour those books, not only because of Nate’s hott goth friend Rosamund (owned four black cats and was a ratchety recluse living alone in a constant state of dramatic-eyeliner at like age 7) but also because Nate was a clever little dandy of a detective whose every move was followed by a visit to the kitchen for - wait for it - MORE PANCAKES.

Also, look at (please, if you live in New York and haven’t yet) the dear-God-how-can-these-be-real pancakes at Cheryl’s in Prospect Heights.  I’m a cheap date when it comes to pancakes (I’m hard pressed to find one I don’t think is SOOO GOOOOD) but even I realized there was something distinctive about these the last time I brunched there (and it wasn’t just because Adrian Grenier was brunching serenely at the next table).  They are barely sweet at all — just perfectly light and fried and fluffy.  They leave the sweetness up to the sublimely tart fresh berry sauce and the cloud-light Chantilly cream that are their crowning glory. 

I guess my point here is that while I still have Very Important Business to attend (see forthcoming visits to Dough in Clinton Hill and Wonder City Donuts in East Village — lest you think me to be a Doughnut Fiend of the most fickle variety, who jumps from New Cupcake to New Cupcake like there are neither tomorrow nor yesterday), do not be surprised (or alarmed, as I imagine some of you will be) if I expand my glazed enthusiasm ever so slightly to embrace a slightly larger and scientifically impeccable Venn Diagramatic family of fried goods (I will, of course, try to keep within the realm of the round and the dessert-appropriate) and breakfast goodies (the more excuses I have to say I’m doing ‘research’ when I go out for pancakes, the obviously-better).  

Fin.  Coffee time.