This morning I woke up to my brother calling me, asking me to drive him to pick up his car from the shop. Lovely, as always. So I rolled out of bed (literally) and picked him up and we made our way to the shop.
First off, I know its weird, but I love car shops. I used to work at a car dealership and my office was right next to the service station. So fun-minus creepy stories involving some of the guys who worked in the shop (lets just say a married man would frequent my office even after I turned down his offers for drinks-but thats a story for another day).
Anyways, point of this blog: donuts.
Since I was awake fairly early I thought I'd treat myself to some donuts. Yum.
These donuts were ok, but they made me remember a different time-a better time-when donuts were the center of my world.
Last summer I was lucky enough to meet up with some friends in the L.A. area and they introduced me to the most beautiful donuts of all: Asian Donuts.
It was getting late and we were driving through L.A. and I noticed a surplus of donut shops. Turns out most of these shops are owned by Asian people, and since we were hungry and the shops were open, we decided to venture in.
I will never love donuts quite like I loved that first batch of Asian Donuts. They were delicious. They were plentiful. And they were cheap.
(And you might just find a random man talking about Jesus and the pyramids at the table next to you)
If you're ever in L.A., make sure to get the Asian Donuts in the pink boxes. You will die.
Comments
She's Asian. She should be able to make them for me, right?