Jelly Filled Doughnuts: Why Do They Still Exist?

There you are at the bakery, perusing those delicious dough rings that call to you like body-positive sirens through the sneeze and spittle glass. Burnished sugar buns, catching the light just so, line the display in marshaled rows. As the baker assembles an assortment, you imagine slow-dancing with them out to your car, carefully sneaking them past jealous receptionists at work, and bursting into a loathsome and boring meeting — winning the admiration of your coworkers as you deliver this king’s ransom of carbohydrates.

With awe and mumbled words about a diet that can wait for another day, everyone claims their prize, walking away with a cruller, pink-frosted, or custard-filled daintily balanced in their hands. You look down and realize there is but one left. Hmm. Your fore-teeth make an exploratory foray into that deep-fried goodness, but lo! What is this red ooze dripping forth onto your lap? A jelly doughnut? Had these not been discontinued after the Depression? This filling of thinly disguised rats’ guts has ruined your day, and I do not blame you a bit. Jelly-filled doughnuts threaten every box of their brethren, obscene and incompatible with the 21st century. They must be banned.

About the Author

Luther Ray Abel

Luther Ray Abel is an Associate Editor for National Review. A veteran of the U.S. Navy, Luther is a proud native of Sheboygan, Wis.

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There you are at the bakery, perusing those delicious dough rings that call to you like body-positive sirens through the sneeze and spittle glass. Burnished sugar buns, catching the light just so, line the display in marshaled rows. As the baker assembles an assortment, you imagine slow-dancing with them out to your car, carefully sneaking them past jealous receptionists at work, and bursting into a loathsome and boring meeting — winning the admiration of your coworkers as you deliver this king’s ransom of carbohydrates.

With awe and mumbled words about a diet that can wait for another day, everyone claims their prize, walking away with a cruller, pink-frosted, or custard-filled daintily balanced in their hands. You look down and realize there is but one left. Hmm. Your fore-teeth make an exploratory foray into that deep-fried goodness, but lo! What is this red ooze dripping forth onto your lap? A jelly doughnut? Had these not been discontinued after the Depression? This filling of thinly disguised rats’ guts has ruined your day, and I do not blame you a bit. Jelly-filled doughnuts threaten every box of their brethren, obscene and incompatible with the 21st century. They must be banned.