I knew the date was coming up, the worst kind of anniversary. I wanted to write something worthy of my only brother, gone 9 years yesterday. I was having trouble, lacking inspiration. So imagine my utter shock when I checked this week's writing prompt and found this:
His favorite. The food my family eats to celebrate his birthday. The very thing we leave at his grave when we visit on special occasions.
Bill loved all kinds of doughnuts, old fashioned, cake, or raised, plain or adorned. I love a nice jelly or lemon-filled, but we agreed that the true test of a doughnut maker is the basic glazed.
We grew up in the San Fernando Valley, where Winchell's reigned supreme, and theirs were the standard against which all others were compared. Bill was also a fan of Krispy Kreme, in part because of the free half-dozen you got whenever the Dodger's pitched a shutout. I don't know what my brother thought of Dunkin' Donuts, but they remind me of the walk from my apartment to school in New Haven, cold days warmed by coffee with plenty of cream and sugar.
Near my house, we have Stan's. I was late discovering Stan's, but am glad I did. Stan has the most gloriously dense glazed doughnuts. They are legend around here, with lines out the door on weekend mornings. I'm sorry Bill never got to try one.