Contributor: Jerry Guarino
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Jerry Guarino’s short stories have been published by dozens of magazines in the United States, Canada, Australia and Great Britain. His latest book, "50 Italian Pastries", is available on Amazon.com and as a Kindle eBook. Please visit his website at http://cafestories.net
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A great
donut (yes, this is how I spell it) is like a great marriage.
Really. Let me explain. The best donuts have two components, not
that a basic donut isn’t wonderful. Donuts should be filled with
fruit, cream or other sweet ingredients. The outside of the donut is
the protector, the guardian or in our analogy, the groom. The inside
is the essence of the donut. Raspberry, cream and apple fillings
make the donut come alive, leave a lasting impression on the palate
and provide the love, or the bride. The groom is a wonderful man,
but most of the attention on the wedding day is paid to the bride.
When you love a donut, it’s the filling that you remember, not the
dough, as indispensible as it is.
There are
two major donut franchises in the U.S., one great one you can find in
49 states and one not so great one in California (don’t ask me why
you can’t get the best donuts in California, that’s another
rant); back to our comparison between great donuts and great
marriages.
My best
friend from New Jersey invited me to his son’s wedding and it was a
chance to celebrate their happiness as well as revisit one of my
first loves, that donut (you know the name). My wife and I left the
hotel to attend the rehearsal dinner. On our way we had to pass that
donut shop (with a drive-thru lane now). “We’re stopping there
for dessert,” I said to my wife.
“They
will probably be serving dessert tonight” my California wife said,
obviously unaware of the importance of first loves, be they soft and
feminine or named Boston Kreme.
“I
haven’t had one of these donuts in twenty years. We’re
stopping.”
My best
friend is Asian and so were most of the guests. I hadn’t seen his
son since he was a child and now he had just graduated dental school.
He was a solid professional, a protector. His fiancé was his
perfect complement, a lovely young Asian professional woman, smart
and practical, the sweet filling to his outer coating. I have no
doubt that this couple, like a perfect donut, will endure and bring
happiness to everyone they touch.
I expected
a Chinese banquet but the rehearsal dinner was an Italian feast.
“This is great,” I said to my wife.
“Really,
wonderful” she said. “And so many choices. Did you try the
eggplant?”
“Yes,
but I’m going back for more of this chicken first.”
At this
point I can tell you that the company was as wonderful as the food.
To see my friend’s family, from all over the country who were also
well suited to each other (I’ll have to corner the Californians
and tell them about the donut). Husbands and wives, happily married,
like the newlyweds-to-be. And the single friends, including my son,
showing great promise for being happily married someday too. Thank
goodness they invited a poor kid from Jersey to this event. After
stuffing ourselves over three hours, I was ready to get my treat and
head back to the hotel hot tub.
“Ready
to go dear?” I said to my wife.
“You’re
not still planning on getting a donut after that raspberry, ricotta
cheesecake and the chocolate cannolo (yes, the singular of cannoli),
are you?”
“Of
course.”
“I can’t
believe you have any room left.”
“Twenty
years sweetheart. I’ll make room.” I told my son we would be
back to pick him up as he was enjoying new friendships here.
My wife
and I headed down the street and pulled into the drive-thru behind a
half-dozen cars. This time of night, it wasn’t unusual to see a
line; late night donuts are a favorite snack everywhere, and
particularly in New Jersey. Passing the right side of the shop, I
saw dozens of donuts neatly positioned in their cubicles behind the
counter, romantically illuminated, like a bride on her wedding day.
“It won’t be long now,” I said.
When it
was my turn to order, I spoke clearly and concisely into the speaker.
“Two Boston Kreme donuts please.” My mouth was watering. I was
a minute away from that sweet taste I had been away from for so long.
“No
donuts” came the reply from the speaker.
I stared
at the speaker then to my wife. Surely they didn’t understand.
“Two Boston Kreme donuts please.”
“No
donuts” repeated the speaker. Have I crossed over to the Twilight
Zone? This is what the shop is famous for. It’s called Dunkin
Donuts for Pete’s sake (who is Pete anyway?). This line of cars
can’t be here just for coffee at this time of night. I pulled out
of the line and returned to the party. My best friend met me at the
door.
“Hey,
where did you go?”
“I went
to get a couple of donuts to end this perfect meal, but they didn’t
have any.”
“What?
Are you sure?”
“I swear
to you. They actually said No
donuts.”
“Maybe
they didn’t understand you.”
“I
ordered twice. Same response. No
donuts. I could see them in
the case as we drove in. I saw the donuts.”
I felt
like a groom being left at the altar. They can’t tarnish this
perfect night. Thinking I may have indeed crossed into some surreal
dimension, I decided to return to try once more. My son and wife in
the car, we pulled into the drive-thru lane, again behind a
half-dozen cars and waited patiently as each one was served. Then I
found myself in front of that speaker, now ominously looking back at
me.
“Two
Boston Kreme donuts please.”
“No
donuts” came the reply from the speaker.
My wife
shook her head. My son was stunned; his mouth was open as if to say
WTF, a
common phrase from his generation. I thought I should give it one
more try.
“Two
Boston Kreme donuts please.”
“No
donuts” came the reply from the speaker one more time. No
explanation, no regret, just a matter-of-fact denial.
I
drove back to the hotel, not entirely convinced that this wasn’t
some evil omen for the couple’s wedding day. On a night when my
wife and I should have been celebrating our love, I could only go
straight to sleep, apologizing, but she understood.
“I’m
sorry dear. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Argh.”
On
the wedding day, I woke up early, knocked on the door where my son
stayed and waited. He opened the door. “What’s up Dad?”
“We
have to get a donut.” He understood. I had taken him to New
Jersey on road trips when he was a little boy. He knew White Castle
hamburgers, pizza from the Jersey shore and these donuts.
We
drove to the shop. I decided to park and go inside. If I wasn’t
going to get donuts, I wanted to know why.
“Two
Boston Kreme donuts please.” I had my fingers crossed behind my
back.
“Right
away sir.” The girl at the counter put two donuts into a bag and
handed them to me. Order was restored to the universe. The wedding
would go on and the couple would live happily ever after.
Jerry Guarino’s short stories have been published by dozens of magazines in the United States, Canada, Australia and Great Britain. His latest book, "50 Italian Pastries", is available on Amazon.com and as a Kindle eBook. Please visit his website at http://cafestories.net
Author:
Jerry Guarino
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