It became a tradition after every Music Festival. Whether I killed it and took first place or sat paralyzed at the piano, dying inside because I'd forgotten my piece - we would celebrate a victory or repair my broken heart by visiting a Mom & Pop Donut shop on the main street - the kind with signs painted right on the window and a counter you could sit at with your hot chocolate and clear baggies full of day-olds you could buy for a couple dollars and smoke curling up to the ceiling from the old man eating his butter tart with a spoon, reading the Sports Section in the back corner.
I would always choose a Dutchie. I liked that it was square when everything else was round. I liked that it had raisins. I liked how there was always one corner where the raisins would congest and I could save that corner for the very last bite because it was perfect and every ending should be 'happily ever after'...
To this day it remains my favorite. Nothing compares (in the area of coffee shop confection) to a Dutchie. Nothing else holds the proverbial high-five of my mother or the tender sentiment of being cared for with a special treat. Nothing. Not a Cruller, not a Fritter, not a good old Canadian Maple.
Some days just call for sweetness. Days like today, when the air is crisp and the sun shines blinding on the snow and your coffee is begging for companionship on the long drive to take your husband to work...
"Welcome to Tim Horton's. Can I take your order, please?"
"Medium regular and a Dutchie, please."
"I'm sorry, we've discontinued the Dutchie...can I interest you in a Boston Cream donut instead?"
* Ew! - Gross! - Barf! *
What are they thinking? Tearing that little sentimental snack right off the rack like it doesn't seep nostalgia every time I save the raisin corner until the end? Turning a blind eye to a customers
I feel robbed.
And I intend to hold a grudge until they bring it back (or start selling homemade pie through drive-thru windows).