This afternoon we decided to go on an adventure to Voodoo Doughnuts, a must-taste of Portland.
We got there to find a line of 60+ hungry people wrapped around the side of the building. Jaime asked if I minded the line and I told her, “the biggest regret I have is that I never tried Pink’s hot dogs in LA – only because of the line.” So – we scrambled up behind a couple of chain-smoking out-of-towners and waited.
ONE HOUR LATER (no joke) and fully saturated with *secondhand cancer, we found ourselves at the front of the building. This was much more interesting than the side of the building, because it featured a stretch limo with a handicap sign. I found this to be remarkable. The driver – who looked very much like Skipper from Gilligan’s Island, cept with inspiring side chops was in fact handicapped (Bum leg), and was offering rides as a gypsy cab would in Brooklyn.
A family of 4 took him up on the offer and in just 3 minutes, the limo pulled away with 2 tired parents and 2 delightedly sugar-crazed 7 year-olds in the back. This all happened before a building tagged with, “Keep Portland Weird.” I kept looking for cameras.
Finally, it was our turn to enter the doughnut shop. I have never SEEN so many doughnuts of varying flavors, shapes and decor. I had the Dirt doughnut and a chocolate coconut and Jaime had a Dirt doughnut and a Bacon Maple Bar (which I refused to try).
We took our doughnuts a couple blocks away and ate them in a recreational area off of the water. Yes – we mowed down on confections while cyclists and those training for the next marathon whizzed by – shunning us.
Oh and I forgot to mention. Jaime also bought a Voodoo Dozen for her work pals and FedExed them overnight to arrive tomorrow. Voodoo puts the doughnuts in a big girly pink box which everyone recognizes and makes cooing noises at. Best example, a not-homeless guy asked us to spare some change:
“No – I’m sorry man.”
“Oh Sweet! you got Voodoo Doughnuts! Awe-sommmmmme.”
*I frequently fantasize about bringing a bottle of Lavendar Febreeze out with me (it could fit in my purse) and when people smoke around me, just fogging them with the can until my index finger starts to hurt.