As I adjust to my new life in Los Angeles, there is a lot to get use to. Traffic. Never ending sunshine. Celebrities roaming the streets like free-range chickens. More traffic. But the code I have not been able to crack over the last few weeks is L.A.’s obsession with donuts. In a three block radius of my new house there are a minimum of six donut establishments. One of them has the nerve to be 24 hours! Really! Back at home I can’t think of even one Dunkin Donut near my house, much less 6. In the land of size zero and 24 hour gyms how in the name of tarnation is this allowed to be?
Initially, I thought it was just a random store on the corner of Chevy Chase and Central, but as I made my way through my new neighborhood I started to notice these donut shops at a more frequent rate. I couldn’t help but wonder who is making a living, in this economy, selling just donuts? So one night, out of curiosity and a sweet tooth that wouldn’t quit, I stopped by the 24 hour shop. Inside there was a little dark-haired woman cleaning off tables and making fresh coffee. The space was sparse, with its weird green-colored walls, and except for a large refrigerator with coke products on sale the only thing on the menu were donuts! I ordered a cup of said coffee and two old fashion donuts with chocolate. I took my goodies to my car and decided to stake out the joint. There was no way she was seeing any donut business at 10:00pm.
Before I could pop the top on my coffee two guys jumped out of their silver Prius and headed inside. They seemed to be regulars. The little woman chatted them up as she loaded up a bag with their order. Within five minutes the laughing pair exited with a large bag of donuts. I immediately dismissed them as night watchmen who needed the sugar fix to stay awake and protect whatever they were supposed to be protecting. Then two skateboarder kids, both around sixteen, skated up to the shop. Doesn’t California have curfew laws? They headed inside, grabbed a couple cokes from the cooler, and ordered up donuts. A couple minutes later and they were off on their skateboards munching away.
By the time I pulled away from the donut shop, twenty minutes had past, and no fewer than ten people had made their way into this unassuming, little strip mall store. Of course, my spontaneous late night stake out created more questions than answers. So I Googled the history of donuts and California. Here is what I found.
First of all, donuts have existed since the beginning of time. Seriously. Archaeologists are still finding fossilized donut remnants in what is believed to be prehistoric Native American settlements. But donuts didn’t hit their stride until John Blondell was awarded the patent for the first “doughnut cutter” made out of wood in 1872. By 1920 a Russian refugee invented a donut machine which allowed for the automation of the making of donuts and causing the sugary, doughy confection to spread like wildfire.
So what’s the deal with California’s over-the-top love affair with donuts? There isn’t a clear story for their migration pattern here. The best I could fish out was the Portuguese immigrants who settled in Hawaii and brought their tradition of malasadas making (yeast dough deep fried in oil and rolled in granulated sugar) that they readily shared with other immigrants from other ethnic groups and they then migrated to California bringing a variation of that tasty treat with them. Somehow all that dough rolling and cutting and frying has made Southern California the region with the largest number of donut shops (franchises and mom and pop) in the country.
I don’t know if I solved any mysteries, but I do know where to get some kick-ass chocolate donuts at two in the morning. And by the way, I never saw a police officer pull up to the 24 hour shop that entire time I was there.
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