Donuts are part of the magic that makes life so sweet. I founded the Level 3 Friday Donut Club in 2004 and ran it until my departure in 2015. It had a three year run at Windstream and is now virtual, but at its peak, we had a rotation of 50+ folks who brought donuts every Friday. We had three simple rules: (1) five dozen (2) boutique shop donuts (3) by 8:00 am. This blog memorializes these e-mails to share my thoughts (and, once upon a time, announce the donut arrival). Have a happy Friday!
Search This Blog
Dear members and constituents
There's something about the number seven which gives it a certain aura, prestige… some might go as far as to attribute it a lucky status. Since antiquity it has conveyed a special significance. The seven days of creation, seven wonders of the world, seven hills of Rome and Constantinople and the seven circles of hell in Dante’s inferno. Today, this number is prominent in our everyday lives. We find it at the movies –the seven samurai (aka the Magnificent Seven), double-o-seven (James Bond) and seven of nine (Star Trek Voyager). It’s found in commerce (7-UP, Seagram’s 7, seven jeans, 7-11), religion (seven sins, virtues, chakras) and all around us. There are seven days in a week, notes on the musical scale, colors in the rainbow. There are Seven seas, heads in a hydra and holes in a lucky horseshoe.
If you think about it, this fact is particularly curious, given we don't have seven of anything in our body (think, fingers, limbs, eyes…). Perhaps it's because earth is the seventh planet from the sun (after Mercury, Venus, Apollo, Hermes, Minerva and Uranus… ). Perhaps it’s something to do with the alien species that populated earth in Battle Star Galactica. Then again, perhaps it’s a mystery better left for another day. Whatever the case, today is the seven year anniversary of the Friday Donut Club and Andrea Pierantozzi (donut girl) delights us with seven dozen Krispy Kreme donuts (psyche! It’s actually just five). So come on down, just be sure to abide by the seven mile an hour speed limit. Happy Friday!
Friends, Happy new year (and, technically, still Friday). As many of you know, my household has a peculiar way of ringing-in the new year. We build effigies representing the old year and burn them at midnight. This year, although we made the tough call of canceling the accompanying annual party, I felt it was important to go ahead with the burning. The theme, of course, was CoVid. My kids and I developed a dozen mutations of the virus and staged them in our backyard. Then, at a quarter ‘till midnight, we proceeded to read the old year’s last will and testament (or, as might be expected for a year like this, an un-will and un-testament). Shortly thereafter they were summarily burned. We then proceeded to stay up way past my bedtime (which in part helps explain the unusual tardiness of my weekly note). In any event a couple of donuts and a day of rest have got me back to my old self. By the way, I’ve posted a public video of the Facebook live stream event on Facebook. Key markers on
Friends, The book Ready Player One sent me down memory lane this week. The journey was not triggered by the author’s excessive references to the 1980s, which border on obsessive. Rather, it was the name of the massive virtual reality simulation used by characters in this dystopian future to escape their grim surroundings: The OASIS. You see, that was also the name of my grandfather’s country estate, the setting where a disproportionate share of my treasured childhood memories were created. La Quinta Oasis was a bucolic old whitewashed house with a massive stone staircase, three foot thick adobe walls and wooden window shutters that, when closed at night, would submerge the residence in pitch darkness. With no running water, electricity, phone or indoor plumbing, the only modern convenience was the battery transistor radio on which my uncles would listen to “Chucho el Roto”, a radio soap opera. The Spanish fighting roosters crowed long before sunrise, making it difficult to fall back
Friends, Have you ever inadvertently fermented spaghetti sauce? Yeah, me neither… until yesterday, that is! Imagine my surprise when the half-full bottle, sitting in the fridge from time immemorial, made a sound akin to opening a beer bottle, instantly filling the glass container with a hazy smoke. As the carbonation dissipated, I grabbed a spoon to conduct the obligatory taste test. How was it? I’m glad you asked! Let’s just say chunky carbonated tomato beer is not my thing (although I must admit that if I had been expecting it, my reaction might have been a little more… composed). Now, if you forgo the fermentation and switch the tomato paste with spicy salsa… that might be the next million dollar idea! Sparkling sriracha anyone? How about Carbonated Cholula? Bubbly Habanero? Fizzy Jalapeño?? I could go on, but I have a feeling Gassy Guac might not fly off the shelves. Now, if only I could stumble on a way to improve donuts. Carbonated Jelly filling… yeah, maybe not. I think I’ll