It’s Sunday morning.
And, unless you’re Johnny Cash, I imagine you’re sitting in the comfort of your home, drinking a second cup of coffee and maybe reading Brome Hill if you’ve already been through the Sunday paper. Maybe you’re watching CBS News Sunday Morning or listening to National Public Radio’s Weekend Edition Sunday, which is worth it each week just to catch Will Shortz.
At some point, you’re going to get hungry. Maybe you’ll go upscale and eat biscotti or scones. Around here, we like doughnuts — especially what Iowans refer to as long johns. Depending on where you live, you might know them as éclairs or maple bars. But if you grew up in Iowa, buying doughnuts at the local Hy-Vee or Casey’s General Store, chances are pretty good you bought long johns. Of course, you bought Hy-Vee doughnuts because there are few — if any — Dunkin’ Donuts or Krispy Kreme stores in small-town Iowa.
Maybe it’s just me, but for years I’ve interchangeably referred to long johns as Bismarcks and vice versa. It appears, after doing a little research to write this post, that I have been mistaken. Bismarcks, I guess, are the round doughnuts that are filled with jelly or crème.
One thing, however, about which I am not mistaken is where to buy the world’s best doughnuts — Bloedows Bakery in Winona, Minn. The maple bars may be the bakery’s best sellers. But take my word for it, the raised glazed are the best doughnuts you will ever eat anywhere. I haven’t lived in Winona for nearly 10 years — and there are many things I still miss about the place — but those doughnuts are high on the list.
I’m not alone. People stand in line in the mornings to get into Bloedlows, which opens at 7:30, just to buy a dozen of their doughnuts. And I always bought the raised glazed ones. Having one now would make this a perfect Sunday morning.
There are just two problems: I don’t think Bloedows is open on Sundays and it’s only a 225-mile trek to Winona. It’d be well worth it. And I’d do it if I didn’t have to speak this morning at First Christian Church in Muscatine.
Oh, well. Maybe I’ll get to do it some other time.
Brome Hill 