The Internet is full of evil lying people. Not everywhere, of course. Just on those sites who raise your hopes, then dash them down, removing any hope of happiness for the rest of your life. That’s right. Dunkin’ Donuts, I’m talking to you.

It really started at the supermarket. I’ve mentioned before Gelson’s policy of featuring an item, making me fall in love with it, then immediately discontinuing it. This time it was Ridder cheese. It’s a great cheese with a slightly nutty flavor, soft but not quite spreadable. On crackers, with a glass of wine–lovely. I didn’t panic when Gelson’s discontinued it–after all, I’ve been down this road before. Searched all the big stores in LA. At Ralph’s I asked if they carried it. After much consultation, the answer was no. Except there were four packages on the shelf. I’m no fool, I took all four. Life was good.

Until Ralph’s discontinued it two weeks later.

I had pretty much resigned myself to having to fly to Norway or something, then I decided to try the Internet. You’d think the Cheese Store of Beverly Hills would carry it. Nope. But they quickly and politely let me know by email. I did a general search for +cheese +ridder. Sure enough, it turned up on www.cybershop.com. Four pounds for a price far less than first class airfare to Norway. What a deal. I ordered up a big wheel. Which has yet to arrive, two months later. The fact that Cybershop summarily cancelled my order without telling me gave me pause. But I’m an optimist. I believe in the Internet and its ability to supply me with great cheese one of these days.

Which started me thinking about other unobtainable items. Back to search again.

Wondering when Krispy Kreme donuts are coming to your town? Check out www.krispykreme.com and email the nice folks there if you can’t find one near you. Looking for Uggs sheepskin boots without that stupid colored fabric braid they started putting down the back? Hop over to www.uggs.com. It’s a breeze! The world is your oyster (I’m sure they’re available online, I didn’t look)!

Now onto the Tragedy. Dunkin’ Donuts phased out of Los Angeles a few years ago. Disappeared from the airport. My local Mobil station. Even, at last, the store on Pico near Doheny. I didn’t even bother to check on the older store in Torrance. I was just too disheartened. I mostly grew up back east, where (in my memory, at least) they have Dunkin’ Donuts on every corner. In New Jersey they have DRIVE-THRU Dunkin’ Donuts! I’m sure Krispy Kreme donuts are very nice. But they’re not Dunkin’ Donuts. The apples & cinnamon. The plain donuts with the little handle to hold onto while you dunk. Skip the Bavarian Cream and go right for the Vanilla Cream. You’ll be happier.

That’s not the only recent tragedy in my life. Someone shot out a glass door on the north side of my house. Looks like a BB gun, though we couldn’t find a pellet. I assumed I’d pissed off the nuns across the street. The police told me the exact same thing happened to the Kenny Rogers restaurant down the hill. I have no idea how Kenny pissed off the nuns. Or, for that matter, when they became armed. Fortunately, Archie McPhee is currently selling a plastic nun lawn ornament. I’ll put it on that side of the house. It’ll scare off the snipers. Or at least give ‘em something to aim at.

So I decided to check out DD’s website. Who knows, there might be a store in Vegas or Phoenix or somewhere I might drive through someday. It’d be good to know. Let’s face it, it might just factor into one’s vacation plans. Kansas isn’t THAT far out of the way, when it comes right down to it. The website, www.dunkindonuts.com, of course. is very nicely designed. The familiar pink-and-orange logo brought a little mistiness to my eyes, but I went on. Just for the hell of it, I decided to search for stores in California. What’s a five- or six-hour drive now and then?
The store in Torrance was listed.

Not only that, but if you request it, the website gives you complete directions right from your house. It was Martin Luther King day. I thought about calling to see if they were open, but that would show a lack of faith in my Dunkin’ friends. Of course they’re open on holidays. They’re always there for you. That’s the kind of folks they are. Torrance is only about 25 minutes from my house. Suddenly life looked much brighter.

I didn’t find the store right away because there are a bunch of shopping centers in the same area and I wasn’t sure which one it was. No problemo, a noble quest can’t be expected to be easy. Before I turned around, I zipped through Jack in the Box for a Super Quencher Diet Coke (just the thing for a powdered-sugar binge, no?). The giant drinks fit in the Jaguar despite its lamentable lack of cup holders. You just cram it in exactly right under the dash. This, however does not work if the cup lid breaks. Which mine did. Leaving me careening down the streets of Torrance with a huge soda sloshing around and threatening to land in my lap. Know what? I didn’t care. When I got my lemon donut, life would be just fine. Maybe a blueberry one, too, just to be safe.

The first shopping center didn’t have my Dunkin’ Donuts. There was a “DK Donuts,” whatever the hell that is. I had a lidless soda to get rid off, so I wandered by on the way to the trashcan. My heart stopped. The display rack looked disturbingly familiar. My Dunkin’ Donuts had become DK Donuts. The dream died once again.

What kind of sadist would promise you raised donuts on a website, knowing full well it was a fool’s errand? Lure you down the freeways of Los Angeles, only to break your heart, on a national civil rights holiday, no less? Evil, heartless, sugar-sated, internet pranksters, that’s who.

Krispy Kreme, it’s time to give you a try. Disillusioned, but ready for a cinnamon donut.

Copyright 1999 by Janine Smith. Not to be reproduced or distributed without permission

It’s not often I get on a health kick. But now and then, I get a little burst of enthusiasm. I recently took a look at my life and decided to try and improve my nutrition. No, I won’t be giving up mashed potatoes. Or donuts, if I could find any decent ones. I decided to go right the for the big one, the one they said I couldn’t do. I decided to give up Diet Coke.
Not that it would be easy. I know where every fast food restaurant in Los Angeles is, and how much the biggest Diet Coke costs, including tax. Your Super Quencher will be $1.61 at Jack in the Box. Extra-large (ask for “the 44-oz.”) is the same at Carl’s Jr., except occasionally they bump the price back to $1.50 for some reason. Don’t bother with McDonald’s unless it’s summer–the rest of the time they only have large, not extra large. I have been known to choose my cars based largely on the quality and quantity of the cup holders available. Sorry, new Volvo convertible–you won’t be coming home with me. In other words, I like my Diet Coke.

But I realize there’s no nutrition there. All you’re really guzzling are artificial flavors, artificial sweeteners, sodium and caffeine. Yum. Not to mention that $1.61 adds up, especially if you’re really hot and busy and might have to get two in the same day. And there’s the embarrassment factor if you have to give someone a ride and they see all the empties rolling around in the back seat. So it’s a no-brainer, right? Give up the DC.

The first week wasn’t that hard. My friend PK and I went out to La Salsa for lunch, and she offered not to drink one in front of me. Not a problem, I insisted, I am a rock. Plus it was Diet Pepsi, so not really a temptation. I hauled my water bottles everywhere. Looked the other way with stern resolve when passing Jack in the Box. It really wasn’t all that hard. But then I hadn’t really been tested yet.

I was headed to Two Bunch Palms for a relaxing week. My room there had a kitchen, but I wasn’t bringing any soda, just healthy water. I rushed around a little getting ready, and was on the freeway on time. Until I hit Pomona, when the 10 freeway came to a complete halt. We sat there. It was hot out. No one was moving. And there, just up the freeway onramp, taunting me, was a Jack in the Box. In the afternoon light, it took on a slight glow. A reassuring, soothing aura. Up there, above the traffic, above the frayed tempers, it shone like a beacon. “Come to me,” it called. “Come to me and be caffeinated.” My Higher Power never stood a chance.

One soda, just to get me to the resort. That’s all I got. It tasted like heaven. But I only needed one. I got off the freeway and drove proudly past the grocery store. No need to get a six-pack for the room, no need at all. But I went a mile out of the way to Carl’s Jr. to get just one more. It was the last one, really.

From there it was just a short slide down the cola gutter. Every morning I woke, full of resolve. Every noon found me in the car on the way to Carl’s Jr. I would not get a six-pack, I wouldn’t, because I was really really quitting after this one. By the end of the week I was in the car, going through the drive-through wearing only a bathrobe and slippers, with leftover facial goop streaked across my face. I had no shame left. I was just grateful they had the drive-through.

I’ll give up Diet Coke very soon. I’m almost ready. In the meantime, don’t sell any of your Jack in the Box or Carl’s Jr. stock, though.

Copyright 1999 by Janine Smith. Not to be reproduced or distributed without permission

After a friend confided that she loves fruitcake, I decided to make Martha Stewart’s fruitcake for her for Christmas. I like a daunting task or two around the holidays. And I’ve had success with Martha before–one year I made her caramels from scratch. I’d never made candy before and I was renting a house with an ill-equipped kitchen. But, except for a dicey moment when the basset raced past while I was juggling a big tray of hot candy, everything went just fine. I was ready to move on to fruitcake.

Let me just say this: Martha Stewart is a big fat liar. Oh, sure, in person she’s probably very blonde and charming and offers you fabulous appetizers on linen napkins made from flax she grew herself. But her cookbook? Don’t trust it as far as you can throw it. (No, I don’t know exactly how far that is. But I’m sure Martha can tell you, to the smallest fraction of an inch. Or in metric.)

The recipe supposedly makes two loaves and calls for 6 lb. of dried fruit. That seemed like a lot, but what do I know, I’ve never even tasted a fruitcake. So I bought the fruit (partial list–papaya, mango, pineapple, orange & lemon peel, blueberries, strawberries, cranberries, but NO bright green or red cherries. Martha would not approve). Chopped it up and put it in a big bowl. It seemed like way too much. So I checked out a couple of other recipes, and, sure enough, Martha’s makes at LEAST four loaves.

What to do, what to do? I decided to go ahead and make it. Wound up with two big loaves and four miniature loaves. They all look appropriately fruitcake-y. But what the hell am I going to do with the extra loaves? You don’t happen to love fruitcake (or Martha), do you? Or know someone who does? Or have a really big grudge against someone who needs to be punished? Let me know. I think I’ll have these around here for quite some time to come.

Copyright 1999 by Janine Smith. Not to be reproduced or distributed without permission