The Fried Dough Ho

I debated a bit as to whether or not I should share this. But it is doughnut art of a sorts, even if it is only mediocre. I will warn you; it is a clear knock-off of Don Williams song, Wonderful Tonight. And it contains some profanity and self-induced bodily noises and is deliberately (I’m assuming) sang haphazardly and out of key. I enjoy the parody, but believe it would have been funnier sung in earnest and not in a seemingly drunken state. The performer is named Johnny Mayo and all I can tell you is that he resides in Detroit and is now retired. Maybe that is a good thing.

I’m sorry – I really wish I could tell you who is responsible for this brilliant piece of Photoshopping. But every now and then in my warm, sweet, glazed idyllic doughnut world, I stumble upon doughnut images that are just too stunning and I want to share them.

There is no doubt that one can have a transcendent experience — dare I say, a religious one? — in the consumption of a perfectly prepared fried dough offering. And to extend that religious experience to one of iconographic import seems the next logical step.

I love that Mary’s frosted, sprinkled doughnut is whole and emitting a radiant light of grace for all the world to share in, yet Baby Jesus’ glazed doughnut, while emitting a lesser glow of radiance, already has a bite taken out of it; his holy host is partially consumed. But there is more; a small sugared doughnut hole is being offered forth in Baby Jesus’ hand. For you, perhaps? I think under duress. Baby Jesus wants that doughnut hole for himself and it is the Virgin Mary who is guiding his hand — almost forcing it! — in a symbolic offering to the brethren.

“Here, little saviour,” chides Mother Mary. “Be a good little god-incarnate and share your bounty!” Or maybe I have it all wrong! Maybe a miracle has just occurred; he calmed a stormy sea, he raised Lazarus from the dead, he changed water into wine, and he changed a rock into a doughnut! Well, probably not. Because if it were true, we know darn well that he would not have bothered changing water into wine, but instead the water would have been changed into coffee or milk to go with the miraculous doughnut…

Doughnuts in the News – this is a report from The Chicago Tribune:

A Linn County judge has sentenced a 25-year-old Cedar Rapids man to 15 years in prison for a shooting that started over a powdered sugar doughnut.

Prosecutors say Derrick Roberts shot and seriously injuring Delores Smith as she sat in a parked van in April of last year. They say Roberts had a confrontation with the owners of the van earlier in the day because one of them had accidentally tossed the doughnut on his pants leg.

Roberts was found guilty by a jury in May of assault with intent to inflict serious injury, intimidation with a dangerous weapon, assault causing serious injury, going armed with intent and going armed with a concealed weapon.

Now in no way am I condoning a violent action, but that last paragraph made me laugh; “intimidation with a dangerous weapon” could be misconstrued as the DOUGHNUT being the dangerous weapon. This is more of a commentary on poorly written journalism with a doughnut bent to it.

Or it is a commentary on how seriously we doughnut fans take our powdered morsels… I’ll let you decide.

Some time ago, I stumbled on a short mockumentary about doughnuts by filmmaker Jaxon Defa. One of the interviewees was Canadian poet, Ben Hart (pictured above, visiting San Francisco), who waxes rhapsodic that if he had his way, the doughnut would be representative of modern Canadian poetry in sonnet form. I was intrigued and I started hunting around. Well, Ben got his poems published by a small hand-crafted publishing house, Frog Hollow Press in an edition entitled Dough Rolled Perfect. I went for the less expensive model, An edition of 60 numbered books, Smyth-sewn with a cover of mould-made Saint-Armand; flyleaf; approximately 30 copies are offered for sale. Although expensive ($30) for a thin paperback, it has been more than worth it for the joy it has brought.

The introduction poem, which sets the stage is entitled Finer Things:

At my most foolish, I believe confit
can teach me about being duck. I slip
Dvorak into the CD player
and pretend my ear is an instrument
built to hear the full sweep of crescendo.
I look deep into the bull’s eyes
in Guernica — see the world there,blown
to smithereens. Sure, there are lessons
gleaned from poetry and innuendo,
but what cultivation of taste explains love
of cream filling, chocolate sprinkles,
sugar glaze, a dough ring? One bite tells me
all I need to know about sweet. Truth is —
there is no finer things, only these:

I started with this and had to know more about this guy. Ben and I have been corresponding a bit as I continue to investigate Canada’s obsession with doughnuts. For example, Canada has more doughnut shops per capita than any other country on earth. Hamilton, Ontario, home of the first Tim Hortons, has approximately one doughnut shop per 300 residents. The mind boggles! (more…)

I haven’t had much problem at all finding representations of doughnuts in art and have been deluging you recently with painted offerings. I have been neglectful on other forms of media and am pretty excited at what I’ve stumbled on here.

Washboard Sam was the stage name for American Blues musician Robert Brown (July 15, 1910 – November 6, 1966). He was known for a particular style of music known as skiffle, a uniquely American-based style of music which seemed to generate from New Orleans. Stemming from the African American music culture, it was a style of jazz which utilized more common household items like washboards, jugs, comb-and-paper, and the musical saw. Undoubtedly, this is where Washboard Sam got his name.

This particular song, Who Pumped The Wind In My Doughnut? is full of double entendre and sexual innueno.We have lyrics like “Who pumped the wind in my doughnut… sure don’t resemble me…” I could be wrong, though. I don’t claim to understand “down on that yam-yam tree” but I think much of it, such as “I like my doughnuts nice and sweet…” alludes the idea that the doughnut is his woman but that there was progeny who does not look like the father. Obviously, if it were a song about a fried dough, it would probably have best been sung, Who Pumped The Jam In My Doughnut?

Recorded sometime between 1935 and 1947, it is raw and rude and bawdy and fun. Take a gander and enjoy this little doughnut ditty!