Sunday Brunch and Doughnuts

D and I typically never eat breakfast together because he is up for work by 6AM while I lie in bed stuck somewhere in “la la land” limbo.  We do however have Sundays (his only day off) where we eat much later in the morning after making a trip to the bakery/pekarnica downstairs for fresh doughnuts and bread.  The pekarnica (bakery in Cro) is full of sugary baked goods, but we always go for the doughnuts and a loaf of bread to smear with butter and honey. 

This may surprise some of you who know me well because Doughnut was no friend of mine after he ruined my dream of becoming the next ice skating super star.  Put yourself in my skating shoes.  You’re 8, at a MALL with an ice rink (Fashion Island to be exact), looking cute in your magenta leggings and oversized white sweatshirt. Ice skating is your “passion”, although you have no clue what it is to be passionate and your idea of good skating is going around the rink once without falling.  Along comes Doughnut, you eat him thinking yummy, sugar.  Get back on the rink and within minutes feel the nauseating taste of Doughnut coming back up for more sugary fun, but in the form of vomit.  I got off that rink, barfed my brains out, and cursed the day. 

Needless to say I avoided doughnuts like the plague.  Once in a rainbow colored moon I would eat one, but all it did was bring back the feeling of failure and vulnerability.  The doughnuts here in Zadar do not cause the same emotional effect, thank god!  A filling of chocolate or marmalade rests in a bed of soft spherical dough, which is sprinkled with sugar, fried, then dusted with a layer of powdered sugar.  It’s more like bread than cake, not too sugary, and never glazed. 

Preference is just that, preference, and my preference is the Croatian doughnut for its preparation, taste and lack of making me feel like a complete failure.  Lola is a fan too!