KK Krushed

It's been pretty amusing to watch Krispy Kreme slide down from it's greasy perch, aided by Marketwatch's Herb Greenburg, who's kept the donuttier front and center for some time. When I was a kid, there were two Krispy Kreme's in North Carolina that we went passed with any frequency, one in Winston Salem and one in Morehead City. A few times a year we'd be near them and we'd stop in and get a dozen or so of the little melt-in-your-mouthers, and inhale them. Pure joy.

So when, ca 1995, I was on the pier off Christopher Street letting the dog run off the leash and I heard that a store had opened in Chelsea, I promptly leashed up the pup and went up and got a dozen. As good as ever. A week or so later, I got more.

Then the novelty wore off. Krispy Kremes are the culinary equivalent of cocaine or a dotcom. Pure fluff, plenty nice, but no staying power. Sure, I still inhale them when they're free, but I'd actually rather go to a Duncan Donuts, where the coffee is better and the donut at least weighs your hand down a little. And Tim Horton's donuts tower over both of them, despite the satisfaction it may give our friends from Canadia to hear that.