I have a fondness for cinnamon donuts. Given all the choices at the local donut store, I will choose the plain old cinnamon over any other flavor every time. And it’s all rooted in a childhood memory.
I was very young, but I still remember my visits to my great-grandmother’s apartment. I’m not sure when her husband died (she died when I was four, so it must have been before that), but my step-great-grandfather was a cheerful man. He let me play with his hearing aid box, and sit on his knee, and best of all, dip bits of Trenary Toast into his coffee. These pieces of hardened bread are coated with cinnamon and sugar. They are wonderful.
Grandpa H gave me that memory, and a piece of copper he dug from the mines. I still have both today, and I think of him and the UP whenever I have a cinnamon donut.
Photo by Salim Virji
