I smiled at the fence and whispered, “Ah, Dorothy, we’re not in Portland…”
Memories of this infamous shade of pink — and the tasty product it telegraphs — drew DH and I to burst our bubble of coronavirus quarantine.
Newest location of Voodoo Doughnut. In Houston.
As it’s been eight weeks since we’ve driven into The City, this road trip felt like an excursion into a foreign land. A first after 40+ years of Big H living.
We expected a repeat of our first Voodoo experience.
Portland, Oregon. Summer, 2018.
The locals swore a Must‐Do was sampling Portland doughnuts. Not a normal food choice for either of us. But DH and I share a hard travel rule: wherever, whatever, indulge as the natives do. Within reason, of course.
A two mile walk from our hotel, we discovered the Voodoo crowd:
Their wall‐mounted menu elicited a “Holy moly!” shriek. What you see to the left is one section of a three‐paneled menu.
Hard to see the variety. I remember what we ordered: Viscous Hibiscus, Blueberry Cake, Raspberry Romeo, Voodoo Doll, and School Daze PB&J.
“Good!” understates the divinity.
But, truth is, the ensuing sugar rush hijacked my blogger’s eye and writer’s brain. And I no longer remember what else was on the menu — doughnuts or drinks. I do remember The Pink.
The same Portland pink dominates the Houston store, too.
I smacked on these local bites of heaven but my eyes rebelled at all the Pepto‐Bismol pink.
Maybe that’s the point?
A second point: after you eat your box of doughnuts (because who buys or eats only two or three Voodoos?), you need yummy tummy medicine!
So, why not sell PB in your stores, Voodoo Doughnuts? A commission later?
Oh dear reader, I beg your forgiveness for my doughnut‐brain. This post does stink like a commercial. I promise the only green exchanged came from my own pocket. And it was a pricey grab: $2.80 per doughnut on average.
The second ouch! came two days later when I stepped on the scale.
Alas. Must we always pay in both pennies and pounds?
Can’t we catch a break in these pandemic days?