A Baker's Dozen

Howdy everyone! Welcome to the 13^th blog post on jonpenfold.com. Traditionally, the number 13 has been considered the most unlucky of all the numbers. There are several theories revolving around the origins of this phenomenon—ranging from the number of people at The Last Supper, to the number of lunar cycles in a year—though none of them have been accepted as a probable explanation. For those belonging to my generation, the negative connotation concerning the number 13 can be directly related to the Friday the 13^th film franchise, which had absolutely nothing to do with the number 13, or Friday for that matter. Anyway, the number 13 is almost always viewed in a negative manner. Apartment buildings oftentimes skip the 13^th floor. Some manufacturers avoid labeling the number on their products. There is even an actual term—triskaidekaphobia—for the fear of the number 13.

Now, I don’t want people to avoid my 13^th blog post for the simple fact that it comes between the 12^th and the 14^th, so I’ve decided to find some positive in this most unlucky of numbers. Thirteen—what are the most positive things associated with the number 13? The first thing that comes to mind is a half-marathon—13.1 miles—an achievement that anyone would be proud of accomplishing. The second thing is a baker’s dozen—13 for the price of 12—because how could one extra of something good possibly be associated with bad luck, especially if it’s free. So, for this 13^th blog post, I’ve decided to run 13 miles while eating 13 donuts along the way. What could possibly go wrong?

I’ve done my research and produced a map of all the donut shops that Portland has to offer. Over the course of the next 13 miles, I hope to find out which has the “Best Donut in Town.” So, sit back, relax, grab a donut, or thirteen, and come along for the ride.

Donut # 1— “Donut Queen,” corner of 59^th and East Burnside, just over a mile from my house, enough distance to get my legs and my appetite warmed up. How about that? Their sign claims to be the “Best Donuts in Town.” I guess I’ll be the judge of that. I keep it simple and order a small cinnamon ring. “Take two,” says the man behind the counter. “No thanks,” I reply. “I insist—an extra one on the house.” Great! I get offered a free donut at the worst possible time. Normally, I would never turn down free food, but the last thing I need right now is an extra donut—not this early in the run.

Donut # 2—“Annies Donuts,” on 72^nd and Sandy, three miles into the run. Wait, what is this? The sign in the window says, “Best Donuts in Town.” And the donuts are priced, and appear, quite similar to those at our first stop—awfully suspicious, if you ask me. Whatever. “I’ll take a small chocolate ring.”

It’s only natural that a runner should eat donuts while running. It makes perfect sense—you need energy to run, sugar equals energy, and donuts equal sugar—simple science. What do you think is in all those gels and gummies and drinks that athletes are always swallowing down? That’s why after two donuts, the fourth mile seems easy; one might even say, short and sweet.

Donut # 3—“Pips Original,” 4750 NE Fremont. This is the hipster donut shop, being run by a young man with a full beard and a young woman with blue hair. “One donut please.” “We don’t sell individual donuts,” the man says. “You have to buy them in quantity.” I look at the prices—4 for $3, the cheapest. I try to bargain with the man. “I’ll give you a dollar for one.” “It’s just that I can’t sell you just one. That’s not how we do it here.” “It’s just that I’m on this mission to try every donut in the city today…” He realizes that—despite my appearance— I’m not a bum, but perhaps a hipster like him (see An Accidental Hipster), a hipster who might be writing a review of his donut shop. His attitude, and the shop’s policy, quickly changes. “Well, I can just give you one for free.” Free donut—I’ll take it. But unfortunately, the shop is immediately out of the running for “Best Donut in Town,” because every food critic knows that you can’t take bribes—that would be unethical. He hands me a small plate, with the smallest donut I have ever seen in my life. Seriously, I’ve seen donut holes that were bigger. “Sea salt and honey,” he says with a smile. “It’s the best donut it town!” Of course it is.

Donut # 4—“Fleur De Lis Bakery,” 3930 NE Hancock. This place looks so fancy that I’m surprised they even let me in. “One donut please.” “Sorry, but we’re out of donuts.” Thank goodness, I think to myself as I scan the prices of their other baked goods.

Luckily, I don’t have to travel far to find a replacement, for I have entered what appears to be the “donut district,” where there is no shortage of overweight business owners who believe that their employees will somehow benefit from two-dozen donuts every Friday morning, even if there are only six people in the entire establishment who will actually eat them.

Donut # 4, take 2—“Fred Meyers,” 30^th and Broadway. I stop at a grocery store that will never run out of donuts and purchase an extremely inexpensive Bavarian cream, topped with chocolate frosting.

Donut # 5—“Coco Donuts,” 2735 NE Broadway. I order the Coco Donut, which is large, and tastes just like its name would imply.

Donut # 6—“Helen Bernhard Bakery,” 1717 NE Broadway. “One donut please.” “You’re in luck, it’s our last one—an apple sauce donut.” I eat it and it tastes nothing like its name would imply.

To be perfectly honest, this is the point in the run where I thought I would have to throw up, because, seriously, who in their right mind would eat a half-dozen donuts while running seven miles? But, fortunately, I feel great! Unfortunately, I’m only halfway done.

Donut # 7—“Voodoo Donuts,” NE Davis and Sandy. This is Portland’s most famous donut shop, appearing on several television shows that I’ve never heard of, on several television networks that I don’t watch. This is their second location, and is not nearly as popular as their flagship store which is located downtown. Tourists still take photos of themselves here, and I still have to wait in line, but only ten minutes, which after running 9 miles, while eating 6 donuts, I don’t really mind. Voodoo has a nice little gimmick going—they make regular donuts and then load them with crap that most people would never think of. Stuff like M&M’s and Captain Crunch and Fruit Loops. It’s almost like they wanted to see how much sugar they could fit on top of sugar. They used to offer donuts filled with cough medicine and Jagermeister, before those rat-bastards at the FDA caught wind. Apparently it’s alright to cram Ritalin down a child’s throat, but an adult can’t choose to ingest a donut filled with Nyquil. I order the “Diablos Rex,” which features a pentagram, and I will admit it is absolutely delicious.

After 9 miles and 7 donuts, you’d think that there would be some lingering effects, but to be honest, I feel fine. My legs are a bit sore, but they should be after 9 miles. Though my gut does feel a bit heavy, my energy is through the roof. You know, I intended on this entire pursuit to be a joke, but now I’m wondering if I’m on to something.

Donut # 8—“Delicious Donuts,” 12 SE Grand. Closed. The sign on the door clearly says that they’re open until noon today. The sign is clearly lying. I hate it when signs lie. I press my face to the glass and see three dozen donuts just sitting there, waiting to be eaten. What a waste.

Donut # 8, take 2—“Blue Star Donuts,” 1237 SW Washington. I’ve made it downtown, where they apparently make “DONUTS FOR GROWNUPS.” I order a maple bacon donut, which, yes, has real bacon on it, and also costs more than my first five donuts combined. I guess grownups are supposed to have more money to spend on things like donuts. I used to think that bacon would be good on anything, but I was wrong—bacon and donuts just don’t mix that well. Which suddenly makes me realize—I’ve been to almost every donut shop in the city, and haven’t seen a single cop. 

I was wrong—I’m not on to something. After 11 miles and 8 donuts, it finally sets in. I finally start to feel the drag. It’s as if there’s a three ring circus inside my stomach—with acrobats, elephants, and the whole nine yards—and they don’t know if they want to continue performing or get the hell out of dodge. Luckily, I’m out of donut shops. I swing by the original Voodoo Donuts, but the line outside is ridiculously long, at least an hour wait, and I don’t think I can make it an hour without using a bathroom, so I keep moving.

Donuts # 9-12—“Plaid Pantry,” Corner of Burnside and Grand. Did I mention that I don’t even like donuts, and that I eat, on average, about one donut a year? That’s correct; I’ve eaten more donuts today than I’ve eaten over the past decade. But who better to judge something than someone who doesn’t even like that something he’s judging in the first place? I think that makes sense. I’d like to quit this stupid challenge right now, but I set out to run 13 miles and eat 13 donuts, and don’t want to cheat myself (or my incredible audience) out of the experience. So, I stop at the local convenience store and buy a six-pack of “little chocolate donuts,” the same kind that propelled John Belushi to an Olympic gold medal in the decathlon. I walk the last mile munching on them. Boy, do I hate donuts!

I get to the 13^th donut and I just can’t do it. I just don’t have it in me. Or, maybe I have too much in me, I don’t know. I set out to find positive things associated with the number 13, but in the end, I don’t really feel that positive at all. I’m suddenly very tired, my stomach hurts, and I want nothing more than to lie down and go to sleep. What’s positive about a half-marathon anyway? It’s just for people who aren’t strong enough to run a full marathon. And a baker’s dozen—do you even know where that term comes from? It’s from the 13^th century, when bakers were so afraid of getting their hands chopped off that they’d put an extra roll in every dozen to be certain it met the standard weight. It’s also known as the devil’s dozen. Doesn’t sound too positive anymore, does it?

So, this is the end, and I know what you’re thinking: which is the “best donut in town?” That’s easy—a donut is a donut, people!!! If you want a donut, go the nearest place that sells donuts and ask for a donut. Of course free is better than expensive, but in the end it’s just sugar compiled into a lump of dough. If you’re really going out of your way to find the best donut in town, maybe there are more serious questions you should be asking yourself. But if you really, really need to know, let me let you in on a little secret—if people are willing to spend an hour in line (in the rain, for that matter) for something that costs about a buck, there’s probably a pretty good reason.