My love affair started many many years ago…. and now it’s over.
I remember as if it were yesterday. We met at the bakery in the Albertson’s around the corner from my parents house. It was a much simpler time, when bread came in two choices; Wonder or Roman Meal – and pastries, other than donuts, existed somewhere far, far away from our 70’s suburban neighborhood.
And there she was, that beautiful brown skin covered in a thick sheen of sugar glaze, my dream – an apple fritter. I took my quarter out of my pocket lifted it over my head to the counter and tapped on the glass window, “There that one! The second one from the back!” I motioned, hoping that the towering lady manning the counter could read my thoughts.
And she did! I grasped the wax paper in my hands and brought my gooey delight to my mouth, where I bit through the fried dough with triumphant satisfaction.
Now, 30 er 40 years later, every time I walk into a donut shop and spy the Apple Fritters, that same memory flashes through my mind. And every time, I think my next apple fritter will be like my first. And so I take my credit card out of my pocket, point to the tray of apple fritters and imagine just how wonderful biting into that cholesterol-laden diabetes-causing pastry will be.
And then I bite into it; my dreams transform into disappointment as my tastebuds are overcome with the taste and texture of sugary lard-laden dough.
And the sad part is, I should know better. Every apple fritter encounter for the last 20-years has ended the same way, yet I keep trying, like Charlie Brown being enticed to kick the football by Lucie, despite knowing full well, failure is inevitable.
But yesterday was going to be different, because Gibson Donuts, makes the best donuts in all the midsouth – and I knew, if anyone could make a great apple fritter, they could. So instead of going with their always reliable glazed donuts or amazing bacon glazed donuts, I pointed at the tray of apple fritters once again.
It came swaddled in the wax paper wrap and so I took my dream ever so delicately in my cold winter-chapped hands – and bit into it.
“Blaugh!” Failure once again! So now that’s it! No more, my love affair with Apple Fritters is over. Never again – or at least until next time.
You scared the hell out of me, Kev. I should know better. But like a good journalist, you came up with am attention getting title and first sentence. Dad