Doughnuts: The Real Story. More Than Just A Vehicle For Cop Jokes
A short while ago, I wrote a piece called “Health — Do I Really Need It More Than I Need A Doughnut?” A playful title for a playful look at health. Other than in the title, there was no mention of doughnuts. I received complaints from two readers about this. Rather than continue to alienate about a third of my audience, I thought it might be a good idea to write about doughnuts.
The first thing I did was go out and pick up a dozen donuts for research. This first bit of research gave me such a sugar rush and crash, I had to take a nap. After my nap, a cup of coffee and the last doughnut, I resumed my research, and was amazed at just how complex the world of doughnuts is, and how deep the rabbit hole goes.
You may have noticed in the first two paragraphs, I used two different spellings of this article’s subject, i.e. “doughnut,” and “donut.” I had planned to start with the spelling issue, but as my research continued, I realized that the spelling of the word is so intertwined within the history of the doughnut, it’s best to let that piece shake itself out as the timeline develops. I also thought for a minute that to be fair, I should alternate spellings of the word, like the ever awkward he/she thingie. I quickly realized that this could cause problems if it was, for instance, “doughnut’s” turn, but I needed to use “donut,” or vice versa. I’ll stick with the classic rather than the shortened version of the word unless donut is needed.
Doughnuts were brought to the new world, specifically New Amsterdam (later to be known as Manhattan), by the Dutch. The Dutch, having their own language, and having invented these things in their own country years before the migration, called them oliekoecken or oly koecks. Both translate into English as oily cakes. They were originally oddly shaped balls of dough, fried in either hog fat or canola oil, depending I guess, on the availability of either hogs or canolas, whatever the hell they are. Sprinkled with sugar, or coated with jams and jellies, they were a holiday treat. Somewhere along the way, since they were sort of shaped like nuts, someone started calling them dough-nuts. Washington Irving used that term in his book titled “A History of New York,” published in 1809, and has by default been allowed to take credit for it. I’m of the opinion that you should never trust a writer, so I’m not so sure the credit should go to him. He may have stolen “dough-nuts” and put it in his book, which is quite a feat when you take into account that copy and paste wouldn’t be invented until almost two centuries later.
The round doughnut with a hole in it, or what the industry knows as a ring doughnut was reportedly invented by Captain Hanson Gregory, a Dutch sailor, in the mid 1800s. As the conflicting stories go, he either mashed his doughnut down on a wheel spoke so he could steer his ship with both hands while attending to his munchies during a storm, or he put a hole in raw dough with a pepper container lid so it would cook evenly. No one knows for sure, and this bit of vague history clouds the chance of finding the real truth about ring doughnuts, as well as doughnut holes.
There is anecdotal evidence that Captain Gregory’s mother might have made the “oly koecks” for her son and the crew for their voyages. This not only adds to the mystery, but is also adorable.
The term “doughnut hole” applies to a hole in a doughnut, as well as to a small rounded lump of fried and frosted dough. (here’s where it gets deep) This makes doughnut holes both matter and non-matter, which is a little too science-ey for me, so I put in a call to Neil deGrasse Tyson. He hasn’t returned my call, but it might be a time-zone thing, so I’m leaving my phone on at night, just in case.
There are two methods of creating doughnut holes, both dependent on how the doughnut is made. Some holes magically appear after you connect the two ends of a piece of dough, creating a ring. The other method is to cut dough with a doughnut cutter. This device is basically two concentric circles, with the smaller circle inside the larger one, because it’s impossible to do the reverse. Same principle as a cookie cutter, but if you’re doing everything else correctly, it creates a doughnut instead of a cookie. Both of these methods result in a hole in the doughnut, which perfectly fits the first definition of doughnut hole. Only the second method results in extra product that you can cook, frost, and sell to us for more than the cost of doughnuts, which is a testament to marketing genius, a nod to recycling, and lends credence to the saying that there’s one born every minute.
I have to question the legitimacy of a chunk of dough shaped into a ball and called a doughnut hole that was never really part of a doughnut. It’s a counterfeit, along the same lines as fake news. Technically, it’s a re-creation of the original oily cake, or one of Washington Irving’s dough-nuts. Although I feel it’s a bit dishonest to call these lumps doughnut holes, it doesn’t really affect the taste, and I doubt that anyone else besides me cares that some of these manufacturers only make the holes, and not the doughnuts. Who knew that doughnuts could be almost as complicated as health care? A bigger doughnut problem is that manufacturers sometimes put maple frosting on doughnuts instead of chocolate, but I think that’s a law and order issue.
On to spelling: Dough-nuts. Doughnuts. Donuts. Language evolves. Dictionaries reflect that evolution. Common usage of a certain spelling or pronunciation of a word gain entry into the wonderful world of “what is correct” through a group of dictionary nerds whom we will never meet, and we probably should thank our lucky stars that we won’t ever meet them. I’m guessing that they are still laughing about forcing the acceptance of “nucular” as an alternate spelling and pronunciation of “nuclear.” Jerks.
Donut is the newest (and bestest) spelling. It looks like it first appeared in print in 1900, resurfaced again in 1929. It took root and blossomed in the 1950s, thanks to “Dunkin’ Donuts” and the dumbing down of America. It’s known as the American spelling. Yay, it’s simpler, I’m proud. There’s a donut emoji on my cell phone, but I prefer to spell it out, and if I feel I have the time, I type the extra three letters in there.
I guess the bottom line is; no matter how you spell it, as long as the person behind the counter understands you want a dozen gobs of glazed, frosted and sprinkled deep fried dough, you’re good.
