“…so sweet it actually hurt my teeth.”

If Krispy Kreme are the jocks sitting on the bleachers boasting about how much they bench, then Voodoo Doughnuts is the gathering of goths sitting beneath them, smoking weed and attempting to ignite the letterman jackets above with their Pentagram Zippos.

Everything about this place is brilliantly irreverent and suggestive, from the tagline (‘The magic is in the hole’), to the names of the doughnuts (there’s one called Butterfingering) to the staff.

Our waitress went to put our doughnuts in a bag, so I asked ‘Do you have a box?’ With the deadpan sardonicism of April Ludgate, she replied ‘Of course I have a box’, pausing.

Cue plummy Brit embarrassment.

We had queued for around 20 minutes before we got served but, dang, was it worth it. The selection of doughnuts they have is mind blowing, and with a queue of baying sugar-fix seekers waiting, as a first time visitor you feel pressured to pick almost randomly.

We went in the afternoon, which was probably why they had already sold out of the Old Dirty Bastard. But I reckon we could have picked any of them and left happy; they were all so good:

The signature Portland Cream was stuffed with the aforementioned, encased in a fluffy dough shell with a soft top of milky chocolate icing.

It was stick-your-middle-finger-in-the-face better than any similar styled doughnut I’ve ever had. The maple bacon bar also deserves mention for brazenly sticking two slices of bacon on top, and being so sweet it actually hurt my teeth.

Despite the incredible array of toppings and fillings, the lightness of the dough is the champion here. Goth-smokingly wicked. It’s essential Portland.


  • Rob.
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