Apple Fritters

It’s dark, it’s been dark. It’s fitting that I don’t know how far I am into the darkness; I am just surrounded by it. Soon it will not be dark, but right now, it is dark.

Apple Fritter

It’s the thinking that always destroys me. If I could somehow get through my day without thinking, I might be better off. People accuse me of not thinking anyway, and perhaps not thinking is what has gotten me here,  so I have that hanging over me on the daily. But no, it’s me turning an idea in my head over and over and over and over and over, turning it until the idea is just a gnash of broken glass and bent metal in my head, and it no longer resembles the thought I started with that does me in. The prison of my mind is a one-way sieve that lets craziness in and never lets it back out.

It’s dark, not completely, because lights fill the skies here — an ambient glow that says life is no longer the way it was when I was younger. Today, though, it is particularly dark because there is no moon and the starligh cannot find its way past the fog and pollutants that fill the air. It is dark, and as my head clears and my eyes strain to see detail, the first thoughts of my day creep into my brain. I am considering a problem, a conundrum, a situation that needs resolution. I breathe deep and whisper to myself….

“Death…… or, donuts.”

The two things hit the mixing bowl that is my brain and mashed around until the two words merge into one, forming a giant mound of an idea like dough needing to rise before it can become bread. That idea then takes on a new word, but with the same meaning.

Apple Fritters.

If you are unaware or not from this area, there is one city over from me a magical place called Stan’s Donuts, which was put here by God, or perhaps formed from the matter that blasted out from the big bang, racing through the cosmos until it popped up here in Santa Clara, California. If this place has one thing that could be said to be the food of angels, it is the Apple Fritter.

For the uninitiated, an apple fritter is a deep-fried pastry made from a batter with chopped apples mixed with cinnamon. The basic batter consists of flour, eggs, sugar, milk, and leavening agents like baking powder. Mixed in a bowl, you take an amorphous jumble of the seasoned dough and drop it into a pot of hot oil and fry it until it is crunchy on the outside, yet still soft and moist on the inside, with the textures of apples and goo of melting cinnamon forming a finishing bite that inspires songs and lifts your spirits. After frying, the fritter is then coated in a sweet, delicious glaze made of powdered sugar and water. The finished product offers a layered experience as you bite into it. First sweet, then crunch, then soft and moist, and then a contrast when you reach apple and cinnamon. You go all the way through to get more crunch. It is exquisite, and while you can get something called an apple fritter at most gas stations that sell donuts, the fritters at Stans taste of authenticity and genuineness and all that is good in the world.

I have found purpose, a quest even. Apple Fritters before sunrise. 

Quietly, I rise from my bed, removing the sleep mask I wear that resembles a xenomorph attached to my face. I crouch down to the floor, searching for my pants, then my socks, then my shoes. I gather them up in the morning darkness and take them to another room to change into, hoping that I can remain quiet and not draw the attention of my partner, who slumbers beside me in the darkness. Getting dressed, I wander out into the morning night. It is 5:53, Stans opens at six. I sent off a quick message to someone I know, to whom I have recently brought both joy and frustration and anger. These are thoughts to process later; these situations cannot be addressed on an empty stomach and without coffee. The fritters, too, will help. Stan’s opens at 6:00 a.m., and I imagine I will be getting the freshest and warmest fritters they will have for the day.

I start my car and head north. It is still dark, but the skies hint at sunrise. The sun is constantly rising somewhere, which means a new day dawns 24/7 —a profound thought that ultimately means nothing. I look towards the street and see a man walking slowly, talking a mile a minute in an angry tone. I am near a hospital that has a psych ward. Is he an escapee having an episode, or just someone taking a pre-dawn walk and doing business with people in a different time zone? You can never be sure, and I have learned that in either case it is best to leave them alone.

Loud and energetic voices fill my car as the sounds of guitar and a screaming singer blast across my stereo. “I’m ALLRIIIGHT!” the singer screams somewhat unintelligibly. I envy him. My eyes seem blurry as I have not had an opportunity to wipe the night out of them yet. I can see, but I think I would not pass an eye test right now. I know the route, having driven it often, so there's no need for a map, which lets me give full attention to the road, allowing me to drive quickly and with purpose, but not so fast that if one of the fuzzy blobs in front of me turned into another car or a person, I could not avoid it.

I pull into the parking lot. It is 6:08, Stan’s has been open for eight minutes, and there is already a line out the door. These people all know what I know, and given that I started my own journey in this predawn hour, it did not surprise me that others would be here answering the clarion call of the donut friers at Stan’s. More than likely, a few of these people arrived well before six in the hopes of getting the freshest product possible.

I get to the end of the line, but I am not there long because soon more people queue up behind me and the line grows as light starts to creep into the dark skies. At least it’s not raining, I say to myself. Standing in line, I allow the things I had been processing since the previous day to creep back into my head. A thousand problems, all different but all weighing on me with the same tonnage. Work, money, love, feelings, all of them. This is why I was here: to arm myself with apple fritters and to fuel myself so that I could once again joust with my demons and hopefully win the day. I inch my way up in line, moving along the row of empty seats at the counter and noting that they must never get used since Stan’s always seems to have a line that blocks access to them. My head is down as I check my phone for messages that have not yet come, wondering where they are and dreading that they may never arrive. I am not sure how much time had gone by, but now I was at the front of the line and a woman in a mask looked at me, waiting for my order. There was no greeting or other communication. I was obviously there for a donut, and the person in front of me did not have time to waste on empty regards.

I said hello anyway, “Two apple fritters, please.” I smiled, holding up two fingers to give emphasis and clarity to my order.

The woman’s face changed, a frown came across her face that I could see underneath her mask, her eyebrows furrowed, and I knew I had said something wrong.

“Fritters are only on Monday and Friday,” she said. Today was Wednesday. I looked around the small room and verified that there were indeed no fritters to be seen. My heart sagged and my soul cried, “FOUL!” How could it be that the best thing on a menu is only available two days a week? How did I not know this? Why was there no massive banners flying on every street corner warning that there would be no apple fritters that day at Stan’s? My spirits were crushed, and my psyche was broken into a thousand pieces. All at once, every loss, every mistake, every disappointment in my life had come to me in this ONE MOMENT when there were NO FRITTERS to be had. Is this not America? Are we in communist Russia? Was there NOTHING GOOD IN LIFE?

SHOULD I HAVE OPTED FOR DEATH or at least stayed in bed and tried to go back to sleep?. 

The woman in front of me had no appreciation for my existential crisis and wanted me to either order something or get the hell out of her line. So, I ordered two chocolate old-fashioned, two glazed old-fashioned (in high school, this combination was my breakfast). A Cinnamon roll and a glazed raised. Did I really want these? No, I did not. But I had come all this way, too far to leave empty-handed. I briefly considered going to the nearest 7/11 to get a fritter there, but that would create its own kind of stress. All of Stan’s Donuts were good, above average if not in some ways the best, but they did not hold a candle to the fritters, so, factoring in a sunk cost, I took away good, but lesser treats.

I return home, it is still dark, but the gloom is giving way to the sun, which is now starting to make its presence known. I started boiling water for coffee and prepared the carafe for my pour-over cup to start my morning. Pour-over coffee is something many people do not partake in because it is easier just to toss coffee and water into a coffee maker and press a button. Doing a pour over requires some thought and skills. You need to start boiling water in a tea kettle or something similar. Then, in a separate vessel, place a filter over a cone, which is set on top of a glass carafe. Fill the filter with coffee —three tablespoons in my case. I have a long relationship with morning coffee, having been tasked at a young age to prepare my father's first cup of the day using a Moka pot, an Italian contraption that steames water up through coffee grounds and had quite the learning curve.

Pour over has its own curve that requires a small amount of patience and manual dexterity. Once the water is boiling hot, you take the pot and then slowly dampen the coffee grounds in the filter, moving in a circular fashion, making sure that they are all damp, not soaking wet, but just enough to start the process of the water dripping through the coffee grounds and dripping into the glass carafe below. Once all the grounds are evenly wet and you are reasonably sure a steady drip has started, you can begin pouring more water in.

I took my mug of coffee, my old-fashioned donuts, and hobbled out to the patio to watch the sun take over the sky. The air became slightly warmer, and the sweetness of the two confections in front of me relaxed me and settled my mind for a short moment, but the question remained:

Death, or Donuts.

I had made the choice, as you can see, but why was that choice there in the first place? What brought me to a pre-dawn ponderance that included death. I did not want to die, at least I don’t think I did, but I think I felt a sense of an ending, things in my life concluding as I grew older and would find myself with less quality of life perhaps sooner than later.

I mediated with a donut dunked in coffee, a morning genuflection to the gods who live in the sunrise. Words entered into my head demanding to be sorted.

Love

Hate

Anger

Loss

Joy

Endings

Beginnings

I reflected on all of these words and what they represent, and trying to live by my own axioms, I decided that all of these things belonged to me; they were all mine, and for better or worse, I had power over all of them. I had spent time spiraling; in some way,  I was still in a spiral, and I am not sure I have pulled myself out. But I was in command of my own feelings. I also realized that I had recently been building a steel wall around my emotions, deciding not to let anything or anyone hurt me.

But that, it seems, is the wrong approach. As I thought about it it felt like the best idea was to let myself feel the hurt so that I could allow myself to heal. Maybe the wounds might be smaller or manageable if I allowed myself the luxury of having pain instead of pulling a major muscle trying to avoid it.

I look down. I've eaten the donuts, and what's left of the large cup of coffee I poured for myself is now cold and undrinkable; the bitterness of the brew is taking over my mouth, something easily cured with a toothbrush.

I washed away the coffee, the donuts, and the sense of loss I had from not having Apple Fritters and looked out to see the sun now shining high in the sky. I still felt pain, and I probably always will because nobody is guaranteed a life without suffering.

But, at least I had donuts.