Doughnut-deprived

A couple of evenings ago, while we were eating with a friend at a Chinese buffet, my son made a startling admission.  My friend had remarked that what he was eating looked like a doughnut.

“I’ve never eaten a doughnut,” he replied.

How was that possible?!  My son has never eaten a doughnut?!

I suddenly thought guiltily of all the times as a small girl I went with my grandpa to the Donut Shop, and I always had a tough time choosing between Angel Creams and Bavarian Creams.  I was not a big fan of the cake doughnuts, preferring the yeast variety with filling.  Except for cherry.  I always hated cherry filling.  I could polish off two or three of those cream-filled babies with nary a blink of the eye.

But my son has never been to the Donut Shop.  He’s also never been to a fast food restaurant—unless you count Subway—except to go to the restroom.  That’s right.  No McDonald’s happy meals.  No Whoppers.  No drive-thrus.  When we want burgers, we go to a sit-down restaurant, or our favorite Esquire Lounge, and order burgers and fries.

I don’t think he’s suffering because of it.  He’s a healthy 5’ 1” and 110 pounds at the age of 11.  He’s got a lot of lean muscle, but still retains a small, healthy layer of baby fat, which usually completely disappears during soccer season.  He used to beg for McDonald’s, but mostly for the curiosity factor.  Now he asks to go to a Chinese buffet for sushi and egg rolls.

My son has never had a doughnut, but he’s enjoyed an aged Camembert with a crusty French baguette, something I hadn’t tasted until I was in my late teens.  He’s a huge fan of sushi and sashimi, picking up the chopsticks to tucker in.  He’s eaten wild boar and venison, slurped up raw oysters and perfectly cooked mussels.  He loves clam chowder and “green soup” made with a variety of green vegetables, including spinach.  He downs kale chips at the speed of light.  He’s sampled mangoes, litchis, papaya, pomegranates, and is a big fan of all of them.  He even fearlessly tasted chapulines, the roasted grasshoppers sold on the street in Oaxaca, Mexico.  He said he preferred the lime to the chili-flavored variety.

I’m under no illusion that he will never eat junk food.  I grew up without a television, and when I first moved into my own apartment, I spent many a sleepless night watching a lot of HBO, late-night re-runs, and a lot of other garbage, before I finally realized TV was not all it’s cracked up to be.  I can picture him going out with his teenage friends and tearing into a Big Mac or sharing a box of Krispy Kremes.  My only hope is that at some point he will remember his mother’s love affair with simple, fresh, organic, local, delicious, real food; hopefully, he will occasionally come home for supper and tell me that there’s nothing like home cooking to feed the body and the soul.

Now, to find a good doughnut recipe…