There are things I remember about donuts and there are things I don’t. I remember the smell of coffee and Dunkin Donuts from my childhood. I remember going to the local donut shop with my boyfriend late at night when the donuts were fresh out of the oven. I vaguely remember how that warm glazed buttermilk bar tasted. I remember stopping at the Quick Mart for gas and a package of miniature powdered sugar donuts on the three-hour drive to my best friend’s house. I remember taking my kids for donuts once in a while on a Sunday morning. I remember how much fun they had picking out which one they wanted. The thing I remember most about donuts is that they delivered what I was looking for. There is something so satisfying about a donut. At least that’s how I remember it.
What I don’t remember are the details. I don’t remember exactly what that red jelly-like substance in the middle of the donut tasted like when it mixed with the fluffy dough and the powdered sugar, or the unique cakiness of a glazed old fashioned, or whether or not I felt sick or bad about myself after eating all six of those mini powdered delights (okay, I might remember that).
Not remembering is what makes being gluten-free tolerable. If I go long enough without a thing, if I let myself get desperate enough for the idea of something, like a Dunkin Donut or a Krispy Kreme, then I find that the pathetic and poor substitute of the thing is entirely satisfying. If you want to further ensure this outcome, give up more things first. Don’t stop at gluten. Deprive yourself of sugar too. That way when you are standing in front of the gluten-free section of your local grocery store, you will be so utterly tempted by the frozen donuts staring back at you that you won’t care how much they cost or that you have to microwave them to eat them or that they have names like Kinnikinnick and Glutino , you will only care that they are called donuts and you can eat them.