Hey, everyone! The company that printed all of our brochures four weeks late, folded them wrong, and inadvertently translated them all into Aramaic last month thought that if they brought in some donuts that we’d ignore that and keep using them.
No, seriously, they’re desperate. They didn’t just bring in crap from Dunkin. These are the primo donuts from that place on the other side of the city that doesn’t have a sign out front and is called Toby’s or Rachel’s or Lester’s, depending on who you talk to. But whatever, they’re good. And the printer didn’t scrimp. No plain cake donuts here. Everything’s iced, most are filled, and half of them have tarragon or cardamom or saffron or some gastropastry shit like that.
I mean, they’re good, just not the first thing you expect when you think donut. You can’t get an apple fritter or a long john, but you can get an apple john—a tube of mace- and chili-infused dough piped like a churro, deep-fried until golden brown, flash-frozen with liquid nitrogen, filled with a Braeburn- and blackberry compote made with the freshest produce from Zanzibar Orchards in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, deep-fried again, twisted into the shape of a pretzel, dusted with confectioner’s sugar and a dollop of avocado, and served with a side of tater tots.
We’re totally going to keep using these printers.
Get yours fast—there’s only three dozen, so they’ll probably be gone by about twelve minutes ago.
Also, we still have a half a bag of those really tiny apples left. They’re good too.