Everyone has their comfort food.  Donuts be mine.

Every Sunday of my adolescence started in a hellfire of procrastination, running the no-huddle offense to make 10am mass.  “As long as we’re there by the gospel reading, we’re on time!” mama would reason with us.  Clean shirt, a dollar in change in my pocket, and we were out the door by 10:05.

After finding an open pew, the weekly motions and recitations put my hands and lips on autopilot as my mind wandered to the entrance of St. Mary’s.  Out the door, I’d approach the adjacent picnic table, peer into the pink box, deposit my tithe, and enjoy my ritual brunch.  Donuts were Sunday’s blessing.

Now that I’m a big boy and can enjoy maple crullers at my leisure, I look for what the wonderful world has to offer.  Last year, I guarded my cardboard carry-on from Manila to take home Bronuts.  Last month, I made a point to stop by Sidecar Doughnuts & Coffee.