I needed a break from the small city and from the cold gray days of Alaska. My good friend Marla invited me to the bigger city of Portland, Oregon for the weekend. Off I went.
My strategy this time was to get in the mind set of standing there for an hour, probably in the rain, waiting for these damn doughnuts. Mindset properly aligned, coffeed-up, and a stop to the little girls’ room out of the way, and we were ready! Marla and I showed up for the wait.
Long wait at Voodoo
Marla speculated that it really wasn’t about the doughnuts at all, it was about “The Pink Box.” She shared that folks in Portland stroll down the streets proudly holding their boxes, like a pink badge of courage, stating they had weathered the line. It was true, I witnessed several instances of the box being carried around town like it was precious cargo.
“The Pink Box” can be seen being carried around Portland, Oregon by glassy-eyed peeps.
It was not raining when we showed up. The line wrapped around the rail like a snake. It is a good thing I didn’t know that there was a line in the shop too! The crowd was made up of all kinds of peeps, families, tourists, the local alternative scene, lawyers and web managers, some with tattoos some without. It took us 45 minutes to get to the counter.
Voodoo Doll, Maple Bacon, Gay Bar, and Rice Krispy
We immediately went home and proceeded to make ourselves sick. Too much sugar, thick frosting that seemed like marshmallow topping, jelly thick the color of blood. Way too much for the lawyer and the web manager…
Jelly-blood oozes out of the Voodoo Doughnut. Note the pretzel stake allows you to poke your doughnut.
BACON DOES NOT BELONG ON A DOUGHNUT! There, I said it.
A great way to ruin bacon and a doughnut!
I’m crossing off Voodoo from my bucket list. Prolly never return (I’m not a sweet gal).
I did bring “The Pink Box” back to Alaska with me. I was stopped by several people in the Anchorage airport who got all glassy eyed and wanted to touch my box. Some saying, “You got Voodooooo… “
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