Walking by Bob's Donuts

Tonight I walked by Bob's Donuts and had absolutely no desire to go in. A few things about Bob's were the same as normal - the bum at the end of the counter was hunched over as always, there were plenty of donuts, the tv was set to some network thing that nobody actually watches in their own home, and there were two regular non-bum customers. The most evident reason for not going in was that Aya wasn't working. She doesn't get there until about nine at night, and she's out by about seven the next morning.

The other reason I didn't go in is also pretty evident in retrospect, but it hadn't occurred to me before - I had just eaten. Not only had I just had a regular meal, but I had also just had a milkshake. Donuts do not follow up on milkshakes very well. The truth is, donuts don't follow up on anything very well. They don't make a good dessert. The only time I've eaten Bob's after another meal was back in the day when Big James and I were living at 1756 Hyde and he'd really want to go to Bob's even though we'd just eaten Pizza Pino. Mornings after those nights were brutal, and those nights were abberrations. Bob's has to be its own thing.

Though my relationship with Bob's began after waking up stuck to Nik Dixit's couch on Washington Street, Bob's quickly became a late night place. I moved into the neighborhood and quickly resolved to find a neighborhood bar. There was only one criteria this bar must meet - I had to be able to go there by myself. I spent a long time trying to find this bar. Phase one included the Big Foot Lodge. The Big Foot was great in that the bartender was funny and Nik and I met the Swedish guys there ("we are SWEDISH!!!"), but after one bad experience I gave up on it. Despite the fact that I was in there pretty frequently, one night I showed up with about five people, it took forever to get a drink, the music was horrible, and so I gave it up. The funny things is that I haven't been back since, but the people I took there later moved into the neighborhood and now go all the time.

The next stop was The Royal Oak. This was a terrible place to go alone. Some dude in a blazer always comes in, gets a glass of wine, and ogles the busty bartenders. Meanwhile, the bartenders mangle your beer and give you attitude.

The Buccaneer came the closest. The jukebox there had everything, the bartenders were cool, you could bring in pizza from L'Amore (RIP), dogs were always wandering around, and they had sports on. I'm not really sure what the problem with the Buc was. It might very well have been the ideal drink alone bar. Either I was not born to drink alone, or there's something I'm not picking up on, but either way the Buc didn't work.

Just for kicks, let me mention the places that would never work - Greens, Cresta's, Rouge (fuck'n a), and Tonic. None of these were even candidates. Fiddler's Green is pretty fun alone, but that was too far from home.

After every solo mission to find my place, I'd give up and head to Bob's. Once there, Aya knew my order - a cup of decaf and whatever was freshest. They started making the donuts sometime after midnight. It seemed like apple fritters were freshest more often than the rest, but not by much. Bob's became a total sanctuary. Aya had the perfect hospitality instincts. She'd know when I wanted to chat, and also when I wanted to be left alone. All the late night customers had only Bob's in common. I remember city workers, people in suits for some reason, tons of prostitutes and bums, lots of drunk kids, and pretty much anyone else you can think of who might be on the street late at night. The Bob's family had at its core an appreciation for sanctuary on a darkening strip of Polk St. Although many of these guys were every other business's least desirable customers, and most of us would avoid them on the street, once inside everything was cool.

It took a while to figure out that this was going to be a place that I had to keep to myself, much like I had to separate the donuts from the other food. At first I thought it was just a good late night hangout. If I were to meet a girl in any of the bars on Polk Street, inevitably I'd begin talking about the neighborhood and how cool Bob's was. If this girl wanted to keep the conversation going, she'd ask to go to Bob's after. Taking a girl to Bob's is a total gamble. Usually once inside, I'd clam up a bit. It's one thing to try to explain an experience with Bob's, it's another to share it.

After realizing that it took a very select state of mind to experience this donut shop, I toned it down. I'd talk about it if it came up, but never with the sales pitch "this place rules!" tone I had in the early days. There was one guy who got it and wanted to go. That guy was Golden Krishna.

Golden had come into town from the Peninsula to get dinner. I think we got some Greek food, but I can't be sure. We wandered around town for a long time before getting to within about four blocks of my apartment. I knew that Golden had a massive sweet tooth, but I wasn't expecting a trip to Bob's even as he brought it up. I don't remember talking to him about the place initially, but whatever I said had left enough of an impression with him so that he remembered. We got to talking, and soon enough we were turned around and headed up Polk.

Golden is a man of principle, and I should have guessed that his determination to visit Bob's held the key to more than just a sugar craving. When we sat down and ordered, Golden took a bite and started going crazy. He then revealed that this was the second donut he had had since seventh grade.

As a middle schooler in Des Moines, Golden decided he wanted to be a physical menace and worked out every day. After working out, he'd always go home and have a donut. His workout buddy would have one too. Eventually, Golden felt he could be more than just a physical menace, but also a competitive runner. He gave up donuts and soda on the spot. His buddy didn't. I'm not sure what happened to that kid, but I doubt that his running career stretched as far as Golden's.

The first donut Golden had after seventh grade was in 2004 when Andy Barnette was graduating and leaving the P-P cross country team. As a toast to Andy, Golden did three things he didn't do - have a sip of alcohol, a sip of soda, and a donut.

The donut aesthetic is completely unique. Donuts are the opposite of cool, especially in this town that has a boulange on every corner and crepe trucks outside of night clubs instead of hot dog stands. But because the Bob's appeal is such an outlier, the people who go there feel the bond even more strongly. It's kind of like having Soundgarden as your favorite band.

So I didn't go in tonight, and I don't go in as often anymore. But when a cigarette in the backyard fails and the beer's gone bad, there is only one place to go.