Back in the mid ’70s I was a soda jerk at Mitchell's Drug Store on Townsend Ave. It was during my first winter in Boothbay Harbor after I came back from sailing to the Caribbean with my first husband. We rented an apartment from the town librarian, Florence Chapman, in East Boothbay. I’m not sure how we managed to pay the rent. I still remember finding a nickel under the couch and being excited. More about that winter in the memoirs.

Fishermen and other locals, including Louis Burnham, were regulars at Mitchell’s, coming in for coffee and donuts in the morning. Bill Harris was a regular too. He used to come over from the Boothbay Register. Eleven years ago I took over his position here and moved into his office a week before he died.

The donuts — Nissen's — came individually wrapped. Not exactly fresh. But there was something about them. They tasted good with a cup of coffee. And I was poor. And they were free for Mitchell’s soda jerks.

But they didn't taste THAT good. I don't think I've had one since those days.

Wouldn't it be great if donuts were good for you, and not fattening. There was a time when I could eat all the donuts I wanted and they never showed up around my waist. That was back when I had a waist.

My sister, Wendy (named after Peter Pan's Wendy Darling), reminded me of the donuts we used to have at the cottage in Cushing. They were made daily by some local woman. There were plain and molasses.

“When Peter (you know who he was named for) and I got up at 5 a.m. to go lobstering with granddad we would each grab one on the way out the door and eat them while running down the path,” Wendy said.

I used to heat the molasses ones on the rack on top of the kerosene heater, so they were warm and crispy.

She also remembers the ones a relative in Sanford made. “If we timed it right we'd get one straight out of the pot. Hot and a bit crispy on the outside.” Wendy's memory is way more intact than mine. She's smarter and nicer than I, too. But I'm a better writer. Plus she can't draw a stick figure. Have I told you I'm a pretty decent painter?

According to Smithsonian.com, the donut’s first appearance in the U.S. was in Manhattan. They were introduced under the Dutch name, olykoeks — translating to 'oily cakes.'

Now are you ready for this? The actual donut? With the hole? THAT was thanks to a sea captain who was born in Rockport, Maine! Maybe.

Rumor has it that Krispy Kreme is coming to Maine. Have you ever had one of those? Hot off the conveyor belt? If not, and one comes to within 10 miles of you, you might not want to start, because you may find that you'll need one a day.

For most of us donuts are a guilty pleasure. And unlike an apple, which unfortunately I couldn't care less about unless it's baked in a pie, a donut a day won't keep the doctor away.

I’m not a chef. I lay no claim to being an authority on food or cooking. I’m a good cook, and a lover of good food. And I know how to spell and put a sentence together. This column is simply meant to be fun, and hopefully inspiring. So to anyone reading this whose hackles are raised because you know more about the subject of food than I, relax. I believe you. And feel free to call with compliments: 207-844-1640.