It's 5 AM on March 8, 2011. Depending on where you are in the world, it's Karneval, or Mardi Gras, or Fasching, or Fat Tuesday. And, depending on where you are in the world, you've just begun drinking, or you're still drinking, or you're sleeping it off so you can start drinking again soon.
If you are in southeast Michigan, it's Paczki Day, and you're in line at a Polish bakery in Hamtramck.
Or on the 45-minute drive from Ann Arbor, which is where I am now. Apparently there are places to get paczki in Ann Arbor. To which I say: yeah, for rubes. I would like it from New Deluxe Bakery, I would like it to be glazed and I would like the filling to be lemon.
I missed the Hamtramck Blowout last week, during which my friends Ella and Levent picked up the above pictured tote bag for me, as well as more than one "doughnut," as Levent called it on the phone. Doughnut? Please. And hell is just a sauna.
There's a lot of information--and misinformation--about paczki flying around. Something something Catholics, something something Lent, something something 1,000 calories each...whatever. All I know is that I don't mind standing in line at 6 AM for upwards of an hour for some paczki deliciousness because, every other day of the year, it's just a jelly doughnut.
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