Some Kind of Voodoo...

On a recent road trip to Portland flanked by my posse(my two great boys), we found ourselves stumbling around town looking for something cool to check out. The city, though vibrant was packed with too many peeps and no hotel room to be found, except one, a cockroach haven and that was not how we were rollin. What we did find was an interesting phenomenon...this city has foodies! I always knew it, but never saw it as I did this weekend. It started with a line, literally a freakin line of food trucks, trailers and carts filled with everything from killa quesadillas to big ass sandwiches to phat burgers to whatever one desired. Tacos, sliders you name it. What I also found, while trying to find a damn place to park as I cruised through a somewhat seedy looking part of town, similar to that of say skid road, was another line...one of people, wrapped around the corner from this red door 50 feet plus long! What the hell was this I asked? We ended up continuing onward as we needed to secure a domicile for the night and I didn't want to have to drive back hundreds of miles to do so. This was about 9pm~ musta been a club with a bad-ass band playing killer jams. Damn...kids aren't 21 yet. The next morning, we venture back into the city hell bent on finding some good eats. We found ourselves looking to park and there before us was that line again. Man I thought...this reminds me of my youth standing in line to get concert tickets for Motley Crue or Van Halen. I pulled over and followed the line to the door. Here stood this small red door in the middle of a large brick wall with just a moderate sign above reading: Voodoo Donuts. We made our way for the back of the line. You did not have to ask us twice as we were totally into it. This was the place where Anthony Bordain traveled to, or so I believe. It took us over an hour to get in, with much overdone hype from others in line and some realistic advice from others. This was cult-ish! Kids, babies, Birkenstock wearing hippies, drugged out from the night before, rockers, both metal and punk ready for a fix to curb their cravings and addictions. Us??? basically the same. All I could envision was bacon donuts! When we entered, the person in front of us told us, don't bother reading the huge sign of offerings, as they do not carry all of them, only what is in the case for the most part. Good thing, cause it was hella-overwhelming. Too many and the line started to rush, as it would when the doors opened at Iron Maiden and one would have to kill their pint of booze in time before the bouncers frisked ya. Good times. We settled upon the bacon-maple bars, fruit loop donuts, "old dirty bastard"(a chocolate-peanut butter and chocolate donut, bazooka gum topped cake donut and a few apple fritters. All were ok and basically novelty filled with literally and figuratively childhood memories, except the fritters. The apple fritters were warm, huge, grease laden and scrumptious. Unctuous and full of flavor and oozing with goodness. The bacon was tasty, and who doesn't love bacon? But, I figured it would be filled with bacon and maybe bacon in the batter, and hell...bacon fat in the maple glaze??? Hoping really. That is how I would have made them, and do when I go that route. Slow rendered, still moist, but slightly caramelized. Folded into the batter, swirl in some fat and black pepper and aged maple. Damn, that would have done it. But no, just a piece of overcooked and hard, dry bacon laying on top. The flavor was good, but the wait in line didn't do it justice. Still all in all as we journeyed back north to Seattle, it was cool to munch on and think about how I would have made them, and what I do if I had a killer Voodoo Donut Lounge. There's food for thought!