Life's a Box of Donuts

This is a story of adventure, this is a story of loss, this is a story of love...for donuts.

I have loved donuts since that first donut I ate, which I’d like to say was a Long John probably around the age where it’s closeness to my name made it all the better.  Of course, I made that up, but the point is: donuts are delicious.

In high school, the time where I learned that I had a bit more control over my actions found me behind the wheel of a car headed to Dunkin Donuts on the way to friends late at night every few weeks.  Nighttime was key, especially the time when the workers magically transform your humble request for six donuts into 2 dozen thirty minutes before closing.

Living with four great friends senior year of college found me getting donuts when the task of whipping of French toast seemed like too much work.

But lately, my access to proper donuts has been nil.  Oh China, how you don’t really understand the world of baked/fried goods.  Sure, no one will fight your corner on the stir-fry or the sustainable way you eat so many parts of animals.  But China, I have to be honest with you, what you call donuts—not so great.

On Christmas, I found myself walking out of a Malaysian chain grocery with a sugar donut—the first decent one I had found.  In Hong Kong, I excitedly bought a donut to find it stuffed with red bean paste; bu yao.  So after years (and by years I mean two) of making cookies and cakes, I started watching Youtube recipes for Donuts.  Boy did it look easy!  “What had I never tried this before?”.  Sure frying can be dangerous, so I looked up baked donuts.

Excited, I bounced home, beaming that same smile I wore as a 5-year-old when genius ideas struck—cute, but I suspect always a bit unnerving for my parents. I watched an Aussie make baked donuts and I started mixing ingredients together.  During the 30 min chill time, I went for a run drooling over the though of homemade donuts.  I came back, opened the fridge, and took out the dough.

The dough, which smelled like vanilla and happiness, was quite sticky.  “All right,” I said.  I wasn’t about to give up.  I floured the counter and began to role out dough with parchment paper.  It stuck to the paper.  The dough stuck to parchment paper to the degree that the paper ripped and some of the dough ended up in the trash refusing to release itself from the paper.  I added more flour and the dough seemed better at first, and then returned to the degree of stickiness that bad bakers find in some strange circle of hell.

Frustrated, I washed my hands, leaving much dough glued on to my arm hair and texted Cynthia, a good friend.  She responded, but by this time I was again covered in dough.  Using my rather prominent nose, I dialed her.

“What do you mean extra flour can make things sticky?” I said, bent over a sticky mess.  Remembering recipes where one adds flour until desired consistency (for Giant Cinnamon rolls, etc.), I was not aware of this other property of flour.

But I was determined to make something!  I rolled out the dough with a wine bottle and found some circular objects in my house in true block-party-scavenger-hunt style.  I cut some shapes, though the dough still didn’t want to cooperate.  Eventually I had some strange shapes of dough on a tray in a toaster oven.  Some rolled by hand into circles, some cut, and some donut “holes”.

The oven smelled like a carnival—the unmistakable smell of funnel cakes filled the kitchen.  But when I checked on the donuts, they looked nothing like donuts.  They didn’t brown, they rose strangely, but they did smell wonderful.  I decided to try to fry the rest of the dough.

I filled a saucepan with some oil and dropped some dough in.  Some of them just soaked up oil, some browned.  Trying to save my project turned nightmare, I filled a Ziploc bag with cinnamon and sugar and tossed the fried pieces of dough inside, shaking them vigorously.

Eventually, it was over.  What did I have to show for all my effort, excitement, and frustration?  Baked scones, fried cinna-sugga strangeness, and an hour of scrubbing a countertop to rid my home of evidence of this travesty.  The scones were quite good, dense and light with a great flavor.  But a scone, no matter how nice, is not a donut and never will be.

A few weeks passed and something wonderful happened.  I received a text from Cynthia who found herself and her good friend Jane in Xi’an.  They had found a treasure of treasures: a Dunkin Donuts!  After traveling 712 km via plane, two glazed donuts sat in a Dunkin Donuts bag on my desk at work.

If you’ve seen the movie The Pursuit of Happiness you’ll know what kind of reaction happened—that kind of, let’s go outside and clap my hands and ooze joy for the world to see.  I didn’t know what to do with myself!  After unwrapping the first donut, my eyes widened.  The donut was gone before I had even sung it all the praises I had prepared.  Something’s never change.

Maybe I should be a cop.

Taking Care of Business

Last weekend (which is actually three weekends ago though that doesn’t ring true with teaching on Saturday and Sunday of this past weekend) Cynthia and I went to Beijing for a conference on highly effective teaching.  We left a day earlier to give us a chance to see some sights.  Our plane touched down Saturday afternoon to bluer than blue skies, a rarity in such a pollution-heavy metropolis.

Our first stop: the Forbidden City – the well-known palace of Imperial China moved to Beijing from further South to better rule the tough border with Mongolia.  The palace closes at 3:00pm in low-tourist season and we arrived around 3:35.  Thus, the Forbidden City will remain just that: forbidden.  We were able to walk through two entrances to the South Gate of the palace, the gate that faces Tiananmen Square.  The golden accented roofs atop the red walls gleamed in the sunshine.  No matter how much I pleaded, Mulan would not open the door for me, leaving me quite upset.

We trekked from the palace gate, back to the subway – an impossibly stuffed train.  We found our destination, a backpacker’s, in a “historic neighborhood.”  Zoning laws kept the buildings short and the streets narrow.  The backpacker’s runs trips to the Great Wall, so we paid our dues for the following morning, and then explored the streets on our of way to the hotel.

Exhausted, I found my bed after getting off at the wrong subway stop, having not-so-delicious pizza hut, and shopping for some supplies for our hike.

Sunday found me on my way to the Great Wall in a white van stuffed with laowai!  We all got to chatting immediately; a favorite part of traveling.  After a 3-hour ride, we arrived.  A quick (10 min) climb up some stairs, of course, got me onto the Great Wall! The Great Wall of China…I couldn’t believe it. The section I hiked, Jinshanling, did not look like the white/grey wall often depicted in pictures.  This section was stone, but browner and the lack of contrast in much of the landscape didn’t help it stand out.  The real attraction though was the 2^nd half or so of the hike, where the wall was fully unrestored.   Parts of the wall had no sides along the top and other parts climbed steeply with many broken stairs.  It had snowed the week before and traces of ice/snow were around.  The usual walk goes a bit further, but the next section of the wall was closed so we had to end a bit early.

Along the way, I got to talking and joking with many in our party.  Everyone seemed to be in good spirits—and how could they not be?  It was a gorgeous no-cloud-blue-sky day and we were walking along the Great Wall.  The end came too soon, and I had only snapped a couple pictures (you know, less than one hundred—which is just a couple).  Our guide, Emily –from the backpackers–, encouraged a fast pace which felt a bit rushed.  I took a moment at the end of the wall to pass out some Timtams (NZ cookies found at Carrefour in Beijing) to some of the group and after everyone went down, I took my Great Wall moment and just starred at it, and the mountains behind in the distance.

We returned to the backpackers where Cynthia and I decided to grab a beer with a couple we had met and two other guys.  The couple, from Holland, were wonderfully engaging; she a child psychologist and him an architect. Peking Duck was on everyone’s mind so together with an additional American traveler, we set out to find a place.  Well we found a place, and a backroom table, and even duck—though it wasn’t Peking duck.  Dinner was ridiculous—full of laughter between, what felt like, old friends.  I crack up even thinking about it.

Afterwards, Cynthia and I train-ed to the closed Tiananmen square and then back to our hotel; I’m just not great at seeing that palace area!

Monday, after an interesting breakfast, we met the other teachers and walked to one of the Dipont schools in Beijing for the conference.  It was were nice to hear the experiences of other teachers, though the AQM (academic quality manager) seemed to rush through some discussion points raised that may have been helpful to fully discuss.

Monday evening, Cynthia, Peter, Michael, and myself found Peking duck and more at a restaurant close to the school.  Good company and delicious duck, duck sauce, pancakes and more!  The wasabi cabbage rolls however, proved too much.  The first one I ate, smothered in Chinese wasabi opened up my sinuses in a whole new way---while the second went right to the stomach.  Peter had the sort of stories I hope to have when I’m close to 60 and Michael will be teaching AP Psychology next year in his center.

I returned to the hotel and watched some television in English—a real treat and then slept.

After a morning conference on Tuesday, Ryan, Cynthia, and I found a cab and headed to Tiananmen Square en route to the airport.  Ryan, and his wife Elizabeth, both teach at the A-level (British system) school in Chengdu.  His Chinese was good enough to have us pay the driver a bit extra for him to wait while Cynthia and I rushed around the world’s largest square!  Finally, I got in and walked a fast circle and left.  It is a large square, which about sums it up for me.

On the plane ride back, Ryan entertained us with stories and videos of his travels in China; he’s a bit of a goof.  Made it back home and made sure I was ready for 5 more workdays, as the upcoming holiday meant we had to have a 7-day work week?  China doesn’t seem to fully understand the point of time off, but I do, which is why I was heading to Sanya in Hainan, China’s southernmost province in 5 days for a quick 3-night trip.

Beijing seemed nice, but the 4 days of super-blue sky did not properly represent the city’s image.  I’ve since heard that some schools have indoor recess some days, when the pollution is too high.  That alone, is enough to make me quite hesitant to return to Beijing.

My first business trip was a success, though I lack a good business trip demeanor.  Guess I’m still a kid, which is fine by me.