The Fried Dough Ho

I would like to introduce you to Emily Eveleth. Well, truth-be-told, *I* would like to be introduced to Emily Eveleth but the least I can do is introduce you to Ms. Evelth’s amazing artwork. I first saw her work on the cover of Gastronomica in the Winter of 2003 but I will readily admit that it did not have that much of an impact on me then. Yes, it was a very pretty image of a jelly doughnut and one could easily think it was a photograph. That picture, by the way, is entitled Nigh and was painted in 1998.

It was several years later when I attended Art Basel in Miami Beach, Florida in December of 2007 and I saw it (or another from that series) in person that the full effect hit me. Her paintings are HUGE. The one I saw in person was more than 8′ square. And while she paints other things, she has become quite famous for her jelly doughnuts, which she has been painting for over twenty years.

These doughnuts are sensual; oozing vibrantly seductive jelly which seemingly begs to be touched and licked. These are sexual doughnuts with their gaping maws, opening to reveal the moist inner secrets of desire. Her paintings are hyper-realistic in their size, but a form of food porn that exudes sexual innuendo.

No, we are not celebrating Christmas yet. This is yet another mostly-obscure media reference which I wanted to share from American actor, writer, and folk musician Burl Ives.

I grew up listening to Burl Ives sing The Big Rock Candy Mountain on one of my 38 rpm records. From my childhood, I knew he was the narrator voice of Sam the Snowman in the classic Christmas classic television show Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer.  And when I embraced classic movies, saw Oscar® winner-Ives in his larger-than-life portrayal of Rufus Hannassey in The Big Country, Big Daddy in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, and as the implacable Dr. Hasselbacher in one of my absolute favorite movies, Our Man In Havana.

As the banjo-playing folk musician, he penned dozens of folksy, down-home tunes and I stumbled on a feel-good ditty which inspired one to look at the big picture through doughnut philosophy:

When you walk the streets you’ll have no cares
If you walk the lines and not the squares
As you go through life make this your goal
Watch the donut, not the hole.

It’s written on the rainbow, in letters made of gold
Written on the rainbow, there’s wisdom to behold
My friend the little sparrow flew
Close enough to see
Written on a rainbow is this philosophy.

I’m off to jolly England where
Bulldogs all wear pants
Off to Pago Pago where alligators dance
My friend the little sparrow will
Take me where he flies
Even to the rainbow to read with my own eyes

Most cities boast a handful of all-night establishments. Usually they are relegated to Dennys or diners of similar ilk. And then there are doughnut shops. In San Francisco, the number of places one can go and hang-out in the middle of the night is few and far between — much fewer than other cities like New York or Los Angeles — but thank goodness there are few 24-hour doughnut establishments.

Allstar Donuts on the Chestnut Avenue of the Marina district is such a store. I was walking home last night from a concert at the Palace of Fine Arts. Most of the restaurants were close to shutting down and even on a Thursday, there was quite a crowd outside most of the bars; 20-something hotties still looking for a late-night hook-up. Allstar is located on a corner and still bedecks a circa-1950s sign with neon that sometimes works but mostly does not. Even when all of the other surrounding businesses are closed and dark, a bright light shines out from the Allstar storefront. Late in the evening, the racks are full of every variety; glazed and raised, cake and sprinkled, holes and sugared.

It is an extensive variety and this late in the evening, it is an easy bet that a majority of the offerings are warm from the oven. I’ve eaten Allstar Donuts a number of times. They are perfectly adequate — nay, even slightly better than so for providing a wide variety and always being available. There are no gourmet doughnuts here; no organic, vegan, dragonfruit or kumquat flavors. The sign is circa 1950 and so is the feeling one gets on the classic black-and-white checkered floor. This is nostalgia at its best. My personal favorites tend toward the cakes at Allstar, chocolate with frosting and cinnamon crumb. They are dense and rich and all so uniform in their soldier-like presentation.

Inasmuch, I would like to introduce you to Michael. Taking my photographs at Allstar around 10:30 at night, Michael and his friend walked in and with much determination, I heard Michael call out, “one chocolate doughnut, please.” I turned to see an elegantly lanky gentleman pull his single doughnut out of the bag and chomp into right there. I asked if I could take his picture. There was something comforting about the immediacy of the pleasure Michael was experiencing in buying and consuming his doughnut with such fervor. Michael’s friend was saving his doughnut for later and this was about the shared joy of watching Michael and sharing a moment among friends over a doughnut.

Here’s to you, Michael. And here’s to all the Allstar Donuts that exist around the country, offering up their sweet bites of comfort at all hours of the day and night.

I had heard about the gargantuan size of the Hopkins Street Bakery doughnuts for some time. An evening meeting in Berkeley inspired me to BART over a few hours early for the mile-and-a-half jaunt from the station. It was a beautiful day with early spring flowers in bloom along the Arts-and-Crafts suburbia I walked through, proud of myself for getting in a *little* exercise (secretly justifying what I was about to do to my body and knowing damn well that the walk was not going to counter the doughy goodness I was anticipating).

As I came from a back entrance, walking by Monterey Foods, there was a distinct aroma of maple in the air. It was a warm, inviting, baker’s maple that briefly made me disband my desire for a jelly doughnut. I turned the corner and saw the purple door and my heart skipped a beat. I was slightly disappointed when I entered — because I had brought a book and was hoping to settle in and comfortably enjoy my treat — only to learn this was a very small store-front bakery with no tables or chairs. Not a full doughnut shop, the glass cases were full of cinnamon morning buns that looked intensely inviting, classic French pastries, racks of bread loaves, and meringues. But sitting on top of the counter, was a giant cookie sheet topped with jam-oozing, white striped monstrous jelly doughnuts.

I grabbed my treat and a carton of milk and wandered outside. Even the adjoining Pizza Parlor’s wooden benches were full, so I settled comfortably enough on the curb under a flowering tree with a light breeze on the back of my neck. More than 5″ across, this doughnut also has height and girth, puffy and inviting, the first bite provided the much-desired, classic jelly doughnut flavor; granulated sugar coating my fingertips and raspberry jam dripping off the corner of my chin, I was in true doughnut heaven. There was a lot of cake to the doughnut, yes. It took several bites to get to the full river of redness, but it is not a journey one would complain about. My only complaint — and this is entirely my fault — is that I couldn’t get to the bakery until well after 4:00 in the afternoon, so I know I was experiencing a level of minor staleness which could easily be rectified with an earlier visit. Now I have to try and get to Berkeley in the morning, this is definitely worthy of a second try; maybe warm from the oven next time!

1584 Hopkins St
(between California St & Mcgee Ave)
Berkeley, CA 94707
Neighborhood: North Berkeley
(510) 526-8188