I Wonder What Folks in LPR do for Donuts?

Friends,

Have you ever wondered how the Arkansas capital got its name? Little Rock. I mean, if I were the one doing the naming, I would have probably gone with some massive or impressive landmark or feature –think Mammoth Hot Springs or Grand Prairie (I’d even accept Boulder as semi-legitimate name). But Little Rock? Wouldn’t there be LOTS of little rocks (i.e. pebbles) in the same vicinity? So, of course, on my trip to HQ earlier this month I was determined to find-out from the locals. Fortunately, an opportunity presented itself at happy hour –admittedly, not the best time for a history lesson— so, take this with a grain of salt. While there were different versions (details such as whether it was the French or the Native Americans who gave the place its name), the consensus was that the French had settled “Le Petite Rocher” (a clever French toponym meaning “The Little Rock”). The name itself derives from a small outcropping of rock where the Arkansas river could be forded (in contrast to the Big Rock, a 200 foot bluff just upstream). This knowledge makes me slightly more comfortable with the name and has inspired me to set forth a proposal for your consideration. Ready? I would like to start abbreviating Little Rock as “LPR” (short for La Petite Rocher). Not to toot my own horn, but I think it’s genius! It hails to the city’s roots, has the familiar “L” and “R” at the beginning and end, making it intuitive and the added letter “P” gives it a distinguished cachet (think FDR or JFK). Granted, three letter acronyms don’t always work (I wouldn’t try one for LPR’s most celebrated child, Bill Jefferson Clinton –something about “BJC” just doesn’t sound right). So next time you need to refer to the beloved city where our headquarters resides, casually throw-in an LPR and see what happens.

Of course, the real reason I’m writing you today is that donuts have arrived in DEN. Not to say we’re holier than thou, but a dozen delicious Holy Donuts are sitting in their usual spot . So come grab yours. Now if only there was a Round Rock donuts less than 900 miles away from here, that would have been perfect.
Happy Friday!

JPG at the BJC/HRC airport in LPR

Comments

Happy New Year!

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

THE Oasis

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

Accidental Culinary Innovations

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

Friday Donuts

Search This Blog