A new doughnut shop opened in Alexandria, Va., last weekend.  Normally, this would be the cause for little more than a raised eyebrow in recognition — fine, fine, a new Dunkin has broken ground and cut the ribbon.  But this shop is a private affair, one based just down I-95 in Richmond, the third franchise of its kind.  This, friends, is a specialty, gourmet, high-end doughnut shop.  And immediately my interest was piqued.

I have a pretty good reserve of willpower built up — that stubbornness has served me well in that regard, at least (even though it has gotten me into trouble in other parts of my life from time to time).  But all the willpower in the world goes out the window in the face of a doughnut.  And not just any doughnut — not cake or a cronut or what-have-you — but a light, airy, glazed circle of dough with just enough toppings to make life interesting.

I recognize that this sounds completely ridiculous, but doughnuts give me comfort.  Doughnuts give me peace.  And only last weekend, as I went back to the Sugar Shack — that’s what the new shop is called — for the second time in as many days, did I realize why this is so, why one bite of a doughnut can settle my soul more than anything this side of a church service.

When I was 4 years old, my maternal grandmother, Mama Ease, was gravely ill. I didn’t know that at the time, of course; I only knew she wasn’t feeling well, and Mom and Dad were spending a great deal of time at the hospital in their hometown of Panama City, Florida, staying by her bedside and keeping her comfortable. While they were with Mama Ease, I was stationed at one of my favorite places in the world – my paternal grandparents’ house. Mom and Pop were – are, even though they have now departed this life – two of the people I loved most on this earth, so being with them all alone, with no parents, no cousins, no aunts and uncles to share them with, was quite a treat. As the baby of the family, with two big boy cousins lined up ahead of me, I didn’t often get to enjoy quality time with just Mom and Pop. Suffice it to say, I was in heaven, despite the circumstances.

Though I was only 4, I have a lot of memories of that time at Mom and Pop’s. Staying up later than usual watching TV. Snuggling into their cushy Ethan Allen sofa (I still miss that sofa terribly!), resting my head on the armrest while Mom scratched my back. But what I remember the most are the doughnut runs with Pop.

I’m sure I’d had doughnuts before; it doesn’t seem that I could have been born a red-blooded American, to say nothing of having attended a weekly church service, without tasting one. But when I think back to that time in my life, all I remember is the sweet, sweet taste of a light and airy Krispy Kreme glazed doughnut that had come straight off the assembly line and into a box Pop and I picked up while we were out riding around. He would buy a dozen at a time, and together we’d ride home, the box perched in my lap, heat emanating from the bottom of the cardboard and soaking through my Osh-Kosh B’Gosh overalls.

“Now, we can only have one doughnut apiece,” Pop would warn, glancing over to see me staring intently at the 12 little O’s before my eyes. My face would fall, saddened that only one these would be mine.

“… in the car,” he would add, and instantly my heart sang with joy as I grabbed two doughnuts – one for him, one for me – and we munched away as the car took us ever closer to home.

And that’s the key, really. Home. The feeling of home I get whenever I bite into an airy doughnut, the feeling of comfort and peace and togetherness that washes over me whenever I take a taste of that sweet fried dough. That feeling – almost a high, really, though it sounds strange to say – is one that I chase, one that I didn’t even realize the origins of until very recently. Until the Sugar Shack came onto the scene.

Mama Ease passed away a couple of months later, in October 1984. Though I was quite young, I was fully aware of the gravity of that situation, even though I couldn’t understand how it had happened or what, frankly, happened next. And during that time of uncertainty and mourning, I clung to those mainstays I was certain of: My mom and dad. My Mom and Pop. My home – not so much a place, but a group of people, wherever we all happened to be, within Panama City or without.

I think Pop would like the Sugar Shack. I think that if he were here – and isn’t that what we spend so much time thinking about, what lost loved ones would do if they were here, what they would think, how they would react, what we would say – he and I would incorporate the shop into our routine. I like to think it would be our new special place. I like to think we would still drive around town, me in the passenger’s seat, him at the wheel, both of us munching on a still-warm doughnut, both of us basking in the comfort of being together.

Love through doughnuts. It’s not all that novel of a concept when you get right down to it. And there’s no doubt in my mind that Pop knew exactly what he was doing when he steered us to the Krispy Kreme all those decades ago. Those memories, those feelings that are still evoked every time I come face-to-face with the crispy, chewy fried doughy circles, have imprinted on me for a lifetime, and I’ll be grateful for the rest of my life. The taste of home is never far away.

:)