Today I was planning to write about something really sad, the latest funeral I attended.
Instead I think I’ll write about donuts. Specifically, Voodoo Doughnuts. (What IS the correct spelling, anyhow? I prefer donut. The dough thing is somehow TMI.)
Leave it to Portland, Oregon to have a cult following for a shack of a donut shop open 24 hours, featuring a not-extremely-clean-looking revolving case of creations (you can see more pictures at www.voodoodoughnut.com) including one I tried — a glazed-style donut covered in maple icing and topped with bacon.
Yes, bacon. It’s been a couple weeks and I’m still not sure if that was the best thing I’ve ever tasted, or the worst. But I do know I keep thinking about it.
More refined — and about the best damn retail idea I can think of, save the taxidermy/vintage jewelry confab across the street at Flutter (www.flutterclutter.com) — is a shop on Mississippi Avenue called The Meadow (www.atthemeadow.com), a tiny spot packed with salt and chocolate. Gourmet salt (who knew there were hundreds of kinds, from all over the world?) and chocolate, along with wine and fresh flowers.
Add an assortment of vodka and toss in an emergency Diet Coke and as far as I’m concerned, you’re set. With all the stories recently about a piece of high-end chocolate serving as a good small reward in tough times, a place like that might even weather the financial storm, though I personally believe the hard alcohol addition is key.
None of this is very useful, I know, unless you actually happen to live in Portland or plan to visit soon. But my dream (well, one of them) is to open a place like The Meadow and my wish is that you’ll do it for me. I have the perfect place in Phoenix, there’s a spot at Camelback and Central in the inside-out strip mall with Frances and Stinkweeds.
I promise to frequent it.
And if you are going to Portland soon and you need a place to stay, I recommend The Ace (www.acehotel.com/portland), which my super-hip friend Megan (www.megyn.wordpress.com) so kindly suggested. It’s cheap (relatively), funky (photo booth in the lobby, Stumptown coffee next door, Powell’s Books down the street) and a little whimsical, if a chain (ok, small boutique but still) hotel can be.
A good getaway can stay with you for weeks. I know mine has. But we now return to our regularly scheduled reality, no matter how sad it might be. Some things, even a bacon/maple donut can’t fix.