* THE CIRCLE OF LIFE During my years at UC Davis, people often asked why I lived in the Bay Area. Why make such a long commute to Davis? The answer was simple: I did it to preserve my soul. Although I'm not an overtly religious person, at times I seem to see evidence of God's hand in the universe. How else to explain the near perfection of the doughnut? Its circular shape represents unity. It has a perfect texture, solid but light. Plunge the batter into the fryer's searing heat and what emerges is beauty --a metaphor for life if ever there was one. Then there's the doughnut's capacity for acceptance. It doesn't just tolerate frosting, sprinkles, nuts and coconut; it embraces them. Considering my beliefs, imagine my shock when I first arrived in Davis. In a new place, starting a new life, I sought comfort food, spiritual solace. I went into Cafe Roma and said, "I'd like a coffee and a doughnut please." The cashier announced that they did not serve coffee, only lattes, espressos, cappuccinos and mochas. I found this annoying, but then he said, "And we only have muffins." At first I didn't understand. I made him repeat himself, but more slowly. Only later did I realize that he didn't apologize or seem embarrassed. His matter-of-fact tone, which suggested that he had no idea of the implications, added to the horror. I walked into the street stunned. What shape is a muffin? Is it a circle? No. It's a lopsided blob. It's a top-heavy fist. A muffin has no grace and no aspirations. It's neither aesthetically pleasing nor philosophically profound. Put frosting on it, and it's no longer a muffin. It's a mutated cupcake. It doesn't work with other ingredients; it absorbs them. It dominates them. You can put chocolate chips on a doughnut, and they will work together. A muffin tries to be in control. It's aloof, even snobby. Will it accept being dunked? No. Furthermore, you can't trust a muffin. Bran muffins try to masquerade as healthy. There is no such thing as a "low fat" doughnut; it's an honest food. I wandered the Davis streets, searching fruitlessly (or rather, cakelessly). I followed cops. I snuck into business conference rooms. Eventually I came upon a doughnut shop sign; I welled up and for a moment almost dropped to my knees in thanksgiving. But once inside, I cried for a different reason. At the first bite, I knew something was horribly wrong. It was heavy and greasy. It brought no pleasure. It provided no spiritual sustenance. Once I brought a box of doughnuts, ones made outside Davis, into my class and offered them to my students. Many refused politely. "You don't understand," I said. "These are good doughnuts." They turned away. I knew then that our culture teetered on the abyss, and I prayed for their souls. The doughnut is the reason I lived in the San Francisco Bay Area and commuted to Davis. Despite its hedonistic stereotype, the Bay Area is a spiritual center. Almost every corner has a doughnut shop. In fact, the food is advertised prominently and often in tandem with other possibilities. You will see huge signs championing Doughnuts and Burgers, Doughnuts and Chicken, Doughnuts and Chinese Food. I find these displays very moving. I've since moved east to Winston-Salem, the home of Krispy-Kreme doughnuts. In fact I live in a house around the corner from the original shop. There the doughnuts are made out in the open; you can watch them trundle along a conveyor belt from mixing bowl to the fryer to the glazer to the box--yet another metaphor for life. Someday, I plan to return to Davis as a missionary. I will open up a small place of worship, perhaps call it "The Circle of Life." It will offer good doughnuts 24 hours a day, seven days a week, and no one seeking solace will be turned away. -- Joseph Mills, Ph.D. '98