Deez (do)Nutz in yo’ mouf!

Dee’s Donuts.

That’s right, deez nutz. Let’s get the laffs out of the way first thing here, because this little place is fuckin’ phenomenal.

One of my casual acquaintances tittered and giggled on his facebook page about the kitschy little doughnut shop down the street from his practice called Dee’s Donuts. Hey yeah guffaw hyuk hyuk. I admit, I giggled too and emplored the address so I too could click a photo for this lame blog and we could all chuckle at the cutely ironic name. After all, up the street is a mail and copy shop called Goin’ Postal, so I figured cute little tongue-in-cheek punny names was de rigeur for this block.

I trundle into Dee’s at around nine in the morning. Their “open” sign wasn’t even lit, which made me wonder if I’d gotten there too early. But seriously, doughnut shops are open and doing business an hour before chickens wake up, so there’s no way they weren’t open. When I push through the front door, ringing the cowbell tied to the pushbar, I’m immediately met with a familiar yet at the same time completely alien lilting, singsong chatter coming from the middle-aged couple running the store – they were speaking Japanese.

Holy shit goddamn! You simply have to be kidding me here! A Japanese doughnut shop up in a boring, extremely wealthy (whitey whitefish) North Las Vegas suburb. Consider me thoroughly tickled.

I ordered their two doughnuts and coffee special for 2.50$. I scored one lemon-filled and one with a delicate, pale pink frosting. The coffee was kona, a blend that was the hottest shit there was back before Starbucks showed up and changed the zeitgeist caffe to be one not of complex, diverse flavors, but to that if monolithic, flavorless, corporate blandness. What I’m getting at here is that this coffee is like being punched in the nose by flavor. Wow. Years of Starbucks had numbed my buds to the point where I’d forgotten that coffee was supposed to taste like coffee, and not bitter, crusty old wool socks.

Whereas the coffee is a swung fist to the nose, the doughnuts are sex with a woman you love. Sweet and soft. Glistening with icing that gently sticks to your fingers but doesn’t come off in big, gloppy clumps of oversweet gunk. The cake bits are warm and cuddly like a goodnight embrace and the lemony filling was tart like a morning kiss.

And then there was the pink one. Its icing actually had little flecks of real strawberry therein. I’d never before had pink icing that tasted anything other than like that bland “pink-flavored” syrup. The icing was thinly pale translucent, not the heavy, brittle, flavorless, opaque magenta crust to which I’m used.

Everything about this experience is everything I feel I’d been denied in my life. Dee’s Donuts truly is one of my favorite experiences here in this godawful city.

Even better than making out with a stranger.

Dee’s can be found at basically the northernmost extreme of the city, where the Deucer meets Durango.

I say “gomen nasai” and she says “ah sankayoo!” And life is awesome.


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