Active Entries
- 1: snatches of conversation in the orbit of the supermarket
- 2: Wednesday reading: The Tale of Emily Windsnap
- 3: Wednesday reading
- 4: a handful of microfictions
- 5: July 25, 2000
- 6: a trade
- 7: Rhapsody to humid heat
- 8: a wonderful day
- 9: Dónde tienen su hogar las aves migratorias?
- 10: the rambling rose and all her beguiling promises
Style Credit
- Base style: Corinthian by
- Theme: Trust Fall by
Expand Cut Tags
No cut tags
no subject
Date: 2016-08-30 01:01 am (UTC)And once upon a time I worked at a Dunkin Donuts overnight. It was before it was bought out and nationalized, and each location still employed bakers to make the donuts. Since the midnight-6 shift was sort of quiet, I took care of the counter and did bakery tasks like donut-filling and powdering. In fact, when I interviewed for my first job at the college, the smarty-pants team member with the last question thought she was going to catch me off-guard by asking, "How do they get the filling in Twinkies?" And I said, "They inject it, if it's anything at all like doughnuts." I had her then--she started laughing out of surprise that I knew. And I told her the whole story of the hoppers of jelly and bavarian creme, and how they had big pointed tubes, and you held a doughnut in each hand and punched them onto the tubes, and actuated a lever with the backs of your hands to fill the doughnuts. You knew by the heft how much to do. And if you turn a Twinkie over and look at the bottom, you see the injection holes.
I don't think Dunkin Donuts do them that way anymore. Most DDs are satellites, and the doughnuts are made elsewhere. We used to have real eggs on location, too. I had to crack them to make the breakfast sandwiches.