Joy in Portland

You know how people tell you where to go? No, no. Silly invisible friend. Not that way. One mentions that she's headed to Portland, for example, and if one is very lucky, a flurry of information drifts down on one's head, like happy snowflakes. But warm. And not so wet.

This is what happened to me. After hearing about a little place called Voodoo Doughnut, I had to go. And you know...they're correct. Good things do come in pink boxes. Heh.

This, for example:


This is the Dirty Old Bastard. On top of an insanely fresh chocolate doughnut, crushed Oreos and peanut butter drizzled resides. Or it did. Now, it's hanging out in my cellulite, with plenty of little friends.

Voodoo Doughnut also makes incredible apple fritters, a tropical delight called Mango Tango, a maple bar with BACON, yes, BACON, and countless other delicious treats. My favorite, however, is this gift from heaven:



It's called the Cock & Balls. It's a huge, light, raised set of doughnuts, slathered in chocolate and [naturally] filled with cream. It took me two days, but I ate it all.

Yes, I did.