"It's donut time. I can feel it in my bones."
I immediately guessed this was something he heard from my dad while he was here, so we started talking about Benji's beloved grandpa J.D. and his inordinate fondness for donuts. When someone makes a proclamation like Benji's, my heritage compels me to honor his heartfelt need for some fried dough. That afternoon I began researching our options, knowing that in Hawaii the most esteemed "local" donut is a malasada, emerging on the scene in the late 1800's when Portuguese laborers came to work the plantations. I discovered a place called Agnes' Portuguese Bake Shop, checked out the address, and figured I'd save the trip for some special occasion.
And then today happened. Tag and I were discussing our plans at 7:00 am. He mentioned that he needed to find a hardware store to get some turtle marking supplies (sounds crude, I know). We hadn't noticed a hardware store in Kailua yet, so we had to look one up and map it online. And lo and behold... it is directly across the street from dear Agnes. Seeing as it was still very early and we had all just been bumbling around in our pajamas and hadn't made it to the kitchen... Well, you know what happened. I drew a line between two dots that were destined to be connected. We kicked off our day with warm malasadas right from the fryer, and then bought a circular file at the hardware store. Viola!
|Behold! The malasada. Partially eaten to show texture.|
|It's donut time. I can feel it in my mouth.|
|No time for smiling for photos. There was work to be done here.|
So the next time you see me you might want to say... "It's donut time. I can feel it in my bones." I have a track record for success with this genre of wish fulfillment.
|Benji and Tyler using the lawn sprinklers to irrigate themselves after a PB&J and fresh pineapple lunch date.|