I am a very sensible, high-fiber cereal guy. That’s my breakfast, plain and simple. Yet, on this particular morning in Portland, Oregon I am compelled to leave my lodgings at an early hour and seek out something wildly improbable for my morning meal. An irresistible, supernatural force draws me towards SW Third Avenue. I start to perspire. I feel my pulse racing. Is it witchcraft?
No, it’s Voodoo.
If you are faint of heart, read no further. I am about to take you on a perilous journey into the world of the dark pastry arts.
I almost miss the unassuming brick facade of Voodoo Doughnut, but something pulls me to the threshold. Inside, the lobby is about the size of a large closet. I see arcane brick-a-brac and an entire wall covered with New York Times obituaries of celebrities who journeyed to the spirit world in the past year. There are perhaps thirteen customers squeezed into the small space – hipsters, seniors, tourists and business professionals in neckties and cashmere pullovers – all similarly spellbound, and ordering dozens of doughnuts. It’s as if some powerful conjurer has cast a hex over the city of Portland, awakening the childhood sugar-coated breakfast fantasy that lives deep within our collective psyche.
I wait patiently for nearly 15 minutes and place my order, which is magically concealed in an alluring pink box. I nearly run back to my hotel. By this point, I am burning with fever. I split open the box and indulge with sinful abandon, starting with a wickedly-luscious traditional cake doughnut studded with sprinkles:
Triple Chocolate Penetration:
A gaudy hallucination of Fruit Loops floating on an allegorical bowl of milky white frosting:
And, the ultimate in daybreak decadence, The Bacon Maple Bar – sweet, smoky gluttony:
The experience has forever changed me. Bagels are banal. Fiber cereal is forgettable. Orange juice is ordinary. I am bewitched, perhaps possessed. From this day forth, I carry the mark of Voodoo Doughnut.
I sampled the food, wine and spirits of the Portland, Oregon region September 27 through October 2, 2009.
©2009 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved
I wait patiently for nearly 15 minutes and place my order, which is magically concealed in an alluring pink box. I nearly run back to my hotel. By this point, I am burning with fever. I split open the box and indulge with sinful abandon, starting with a wickedly-luscious traditional cake doughnut studded with sprinkles:
Triple Chocolate Penetration: 
A gaudy hallucination of Fruit Loops floating on an allegorical bowl of milky white frosting:
And, the ultimate in daybreak decadence, The Bacon Maple Bar – sweet, smoky gluttony: 
The experience has forever changed me. Bagels are banal. Fiber cereal is forgettable. Orange juice is ordinary. I am bewitched, perhaps possessed. From this day forth, I carry the mark of Voodoo Doughnut. I sampled the food, wine and spirits of the Portland, Oregon region September 27 through October 2, 2009.
©2009 T.W. Barritt All Rights Reserved
