More and more I find myself straying off of the topic of food on this blog. It's becoming harder and harder to see food as more than a variable in an economic transaction. Lunch is not just lunch but instead a practice on how little can I spend to feel not hungry. Dinner is usually different, I eat normally then. And of course what food blogger doesn't snack here and there. Some days I'm overwhelmed with this intense desire to understand how to quantify my desire with potential satisfaction. In simple terms, I can't make up my mind. You show me a donut and my imaginary tail wags at a rate faster than Danny Meyer can open Shake Shacks. Sometimes I forget exactly what kind of number calculations are going on in my head and poof! $2+ for a donut. In fact, when my mind is a typhoon, I order THREE donuts, and not just one.
There's a term out there called perfect substiutes where by if you don't care whether you drink coke or pepsi, then one is a perfect substitute for another. Now, if you can eat Krispy Kreme or Dunkin Donuts instead of Donut Plant donuts... then no one will read your food blog, dogs would sneer at you and life would cease to have meaning.
What I can tell you about the Donut Plant is that it's kind of outta the way. You have to walk east on Grand street for a while before you get to it. Once you get to it, you just sorta want to sit down and eat donuts for a while. I got three cake donuts, but for one of them I ate it so fast that no pictures were taken. I was also there for the very last carrot cake donut of the day. Mmm... I have to say that no Dunkin donut would be a perfect substitute for this delicious treat. Even though at above $2, it's normally a price that makes me cringe.
It's amazing what tasty treats can do to your normal thought patterns. After the carrot cake donut, I tried this chocolate one. It was pretty much the best chocolate cake donut ever. The thing is, you have to keep this in mind... it's still just a donut. The best best best chocolate doughtnut in the world has nothing on crack cocaine. Or even say, a good box of chocolates from Duane Reade. Ok ok, quit yer yapping. I meant Godiva or Lindt but maybe you're even too snooty for those two brands!
I want to sign off this post by talking about random shit. The first is that I was on the subway the other day, and it was a sparsely populated N train going uptown. I got on at Union Square and even though it wasn't a full car, most of the seats were taken except a few loner seats here and there. Steph and I spot two seats next to this woman holding some designer bag. So you know, everything's normal and we walk over to sit down. Steph sits down first and so now it's her, a small opening, woman, and her bag. A normal human being would pick up the bag and hold it. Not this woman though. She just scooted her ass over a little bit kept her bag on the seat. I squeezed into the opening on the seat. Now maybe this makes me a small and petty person, but aren't you supposed to pick up your bag out of courtesy for other riders? I was raging mad. I was going to fight this woman.
I was going to fart on this stupid person. Yea you read that right. I'm not above it. You don't hit women, and even though Chris Rock says you can shake the shit outta them, I don't think that's possible with a stranger. The next best thing? Flatulence. It's the perfect weapon. It's on the same level of disgusting as spit, except it's invisible. And stinky. Sometimes. But hard as I tried to force out a big one, nothing came! I was so disappointed, and the woman took her damn designer bag off of the subway car two stops later. I just wanted to get that out there, because there's no other food blog in the land talking about farting on women as a form of retribution. Sure, maybe she woulda came at me but I was ready. Everybody know Omar don't scare.
The Doughnut Plant
379 Grand Street.
New York, NY 10002
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