Coffee and Donuts
An appreciation for two of my favorite things and where I get them, plus a few ramblings.
Coffee
So far, every article I’ve posted here started in a coffee shop. Most of these started in Keswick Coffee in historic Keswick Village, in Glenside, Pennsylvania. I like the din. I appreciate the occasional interruptions. I enjoy the random conversations that can stir up ideas hibernating in the gray matter.
As a locally focused cafe, Keswick Coffee has its steady cast of characters that I see in the afternoon when I drop in.
Kirk sits in the corner table and does web development. I see Brian almost every time I drop by, usually an hour or two before closing, and more often than not, talking about the Eagles (he’s convinced Tom Brady’s a big cheater). Joanne comes in a once or twice a week, and we’ve become friends after many long conversations about our lives, our overlapping interests in photography, and our shared concerns about our society. Scott is a heavily tattooed private detective who owns a “desi” dog he rescued all the way from India. Dave lives over a mile away and walks or bikes to the shop two or three times per week, where his day unspools with a small sandwich and something to read. The mailman who has the shop on his route likes to take extended breaks there. He is not shy about his politics.
The emcee of this show is Pam McCarthy who’s owned the shop since 2007. She gets her beans fresh from a local roaster, and while the menu is light on lunch, she makes a mean chicken salad wrap and a refreshing mango-strawberry smoothie.
I don’t know everyone’s name, but yes, there’s a “Cheers” aspect to the experience here. The customer demographics run the gamut, and unlike some of the more polished regional and national chains of cafes, Keswick’s cozy shabby-chic atmosphere and eclectic customer base encourage interaction. Having a private conversation here is almost impossible. Friendly but informed interruptions happen often at the Keswick. This works great for me, because I get more of a charge out of a lively discussion than I do from the caffeine any day.
Donuts
Last weekend, I took my daughter up to tour another college in Worcester, Massachusetts after she received a last-minute acceptance. That was Friday. On Saturday, we hit the road. I lived in Worcester for nine years, leaving in 2002, so I gave the kid my twenty-five-cent tour of a city that has changed dramatically since I left.
We stayed with a friend in Arlington, just north of Boston for a night, heading home on Sunday, but not before finally going to a place my friend often cited as “a-MAZE-ing”, a tiny donut shop called Mass Hole Donuts. The name plays on the the disparaging term used by residents of surrounding New England states mostly for the Bay State’s drivers. As a licensed Massachusetts driver for 44 years, I get it. I’ve witnessed some vehicular acrobatics on the streets of Boston and surrounding area that made me doubt the laws of physics.
Mass Hole is yet another representation of a trend towards artisan donuts. I happen to think that donuts, when done right, are one of those earthly delights which require no reinvention. My good fortune has me living close to Darryl’s Bakery which makes among the best to land in my happy tummy. However, who can pass up a place like Mass Hole that runs out of holes before the end of Sunday church services?
Don’t confuse these with munchkins, those leftover balls of mediocrity from Dunkin’ Donuts. Mass Holes are a higher level confection that attract long lines of fans. My friend, my daughter, and I dropped in at their new location in Somerville’s Teele Square on Sunday morning and got lucky. No line when we walked in, but a long one when we walked out.
Mass Hole makes a set amount of holes per day, and when they run out, that’s it. I likely caused some eye daggers when I ordered a full dozen holes. Only four varieties remained when we arrived, one of which had only four holes. I ordered three of each type. You can see what they offer at their website and lick your lips while reading the descriptions. It changes weekly.
Of the four I ordered, the Boston Banana Cream Pie, with its banana cream-custard filling inside a hole sized between a golf and tennis ball and topped with a chocolate frosting was the showstopper.
The dough enclosing the banana custard had a thoroughly satisfying texture to it, but Mass Hole calls it brioche. It is heavier than the conventional raised donut shell. Another hole I brought home was the Orange Line, named for one of the branches of the MBTA that serves the Boston metro area. It’s described as “a poppyseed cake donut hole, dipped in a fresh orange glaze, topped with vanilla buttercream, candied orange peel, and dark chocolate.”
Poppyseed? Guys, come on. This is a spherical, frosted muffin. Tasty as anything, but still a muffin.
A dozen Mass Holes will set you back two dozen dollars, which is worth it for the experience, and I savored every bite. The adventure reminded me of our visit last year to the Donut Distillery in East Nashville, which also served local microbrews and spirits along with its mini donuts. I found a similar place in Pittsburgh’s strip district several years ago. With sugar, chocolate, and fried dough, it’s frankly hard to go wrong.
I try these places just to get as sense of the trends out there, but I always come back to Darryl’s for the following reason: I haven’t found a bakery that makes a better cake donut. I regard cake donuts as fundamental to this business. Like pulled pork is to barbecue, apple pie is to, well… pie, and coffee is to diners, the cake donut tells me the chef knows their stuff. A failure of the fundamentals bodes ill for the rest of the visit.
The Darryl’s cake donut balances a sumptuous spongey consistency with its lightly crisped crust. If left to my own devices, or if calories took a holiday, I could readily down a half-dozen of them, but that would leave me with little room for the chocolate covered version or Daryl’s Boston cream. It’s a confection that needs no further dress-up, and served with a hot, steaming mug of Java, I’m fueled for the day.
What’s your favorite coffee shop and donut? Where do you go to stir your gray matter? Please leave your comments on this page as it helps us better spread the work within the Substack community.
Ramblings
As you read this, I’m probably driving into Pennsylvania’s coal country to do a little research on a town showing some surprising signs of life, and I’d like to find out why. I’ll have a report next week.
New Jersey is losing another one. The Cherry Hill Diner, in business since the Kennedy administration, will make way for a car wash. The diner got a retro-classic, over-the-top renovation in the mid-aughts, and it looks like a fireworks display at night, but even that didn’t insulate it from the modern realities of the family-owned short-order restaurant business. Story here.
Because of this week’s theme, I just had to share this. I’m making new shutters for my house. Built in 1938, this house and several others on my street still have their original hinged shutters that have designs cut out of the upper panels. Ours depict a sail boat, but with the wood rotting away, I decided to replace them with new ones of my own design and construction. Instead of boats, my neighbors will soon see this:
I'm thinking there has GOT to be a companion shutter with a cutout donut!
Love the new shutters!