Listen. I’ve eaten some pretty nut-bustingly amazing things in my day. Like this. And this. And. It’s hard to reeeeeally WOW my charmingly obese, barefoot, everhungry Panamanian inner child. Asking me "Are you hungry?" is rhetorical because Yes. I take my calorie consumption quite seriously. I think things tastes better when a sauce/gravy situation is involved. I plan my day around my meals. I fantasize about a career as a cheese grits taste tester. Me and food, us never part. I live to eat. You get my point.
My life, she has been changed. There are donuts. And then there are the unreasonably delicious mouthsplosions being served at DuckDonuts, a chain found in various cities in Virginia, North Carolina, and New Jersey. Have you ever skeeted your soul out and woken up thirteen minutes later, confused, limp and sticky, your heart a-krumpin’ with joy?
The three little rings of splendor I smashed on Saturday tasted just like that.
|From grease to gut in no time.|
First of all, they're made to order. That means these precious don't spend their lives on a shelf getting breathed on by donut-breather-onners at Dunkin Donuts and elsewhere. After your rings of splendor are harvested from the oil, you choose your coating and your drizzle/topping and you fight tears as they're boxed and presented to you for final approval.
Who welcomes any opportunity to customize their overindulgences? I do.
I chose the maple bacon (maple coating and wondrous bacon fragments), the french toast (vanilla coating and powdered sugar), and the strawberry joint with a lemon drizzle. When you get home, for the happy ending, microwave that sucker for eight seconds and cue the mouthgasms.
The strawberry/lemon and the french toast donuts were fantastic, but that maple bacon?
I went back two more times over the following week.
Judge me not.
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