The donut holes seem as big as a fist. Tempting.
The younger elf, in her late teens and wearing a non-uniform purple top, references the honey-dipped donuts. “We bake and sell more of these than any other,” she says.
My wife is sold, not only on their potential flavor but also on the photogenic flair. Bold and beautiful, these donuts are bound for daytime drama and glory. (Later today, the donuts will witness the wonder of the Head of the Charles Regatta.)
I focus on the fudge-like quality of the chocolate frosting. Fresh and thick and moist, the topping bonds with the bottom. One of these darlings might also be featured in a photo. But how will it taste?
We’re about to learn as we sit in our car—until we realize we’ve forgotten to buy coffee—and then must return to the brick edifice.
Once inside the Hollow Tree Factory, er, bakery, I tell the younger elf that the camera crew is right behind me. The teenager strikes a pose as another elf—this one with a tray of donuts—appears from the kitchen.
We learn that this pixie is Ma Elf’s daughter. Ohlin’s, established in the 1960s, appears to be a family business. The pose-striking elf says she feels like part of the family.
“Does that mean I have to pay for college?” Ma Elf asks, an impish grin forming to complement her pointy (not really) ears.
My wife and I buy two more donuts (and the coffee) and then return to our car.
She bites into the Honey-dipped. “Oh my God,” she says as I anticipate the fudgey frosting of the donut before me. But the selfless Photographer offers me a bite of her donut. The high-def honey-dipped is sticky but not overly so and oh so sweet and warm and wonderful.
I sink my incisors into the Chocolate Frosted: The chocolate melts as the yeast condenses. Magic. I sip the French vanilla coffee. The Earth ceases its spinning.
Those Keeblers have nothing on Ohlin’s donut elves.