Doughnuts need early start
Employees prepare thousands of baked goods for day’s sales; regulars know schedule well
“Sometimes I think they have doughnut alarm clocks.”
James Barry, an employee with Donut Country for 24 years, rolls dough thinner and thinner before cutting nugget-like shells to be filled with Bavarian cream and jelly.
After years of baking doughnuts, he has perfected the wrist flick with flour to keep dough from sticking to his work table.
Behind him a radio blares an eclectic techno rock song.
Donut Country opened about 25 years ago and now has two locations: Middle Tennessee Boulevard and Memorial Boulevard. The Memorial Boulevard store is open 24 hours during the week, and it has become a hangout spot for night owls.
Starting around 9 each evening, the bakers begin the process of making a variety of doughnuts, fritters, eclairs and cinnamon rolls.
“I used to cut these by hand one at a time,” Barry says. “Now we can do this faster.”
He is talking about a machine equipped with a giant roller line with cutouts of the doughnut and shell shapes. He can turn out dozens in a few minutes now.
Some things have changed in his more than 20 years, but “(t)he (dough) mix is still the same,” he says.
Once the dough is mixed, it is divided into batches. Barry and a team of two more then cut, proof, fry and finish hundreds of doughnuts each night.
“Monday and Tuesday are smaller nights, so we do about 2,000,” says Sarah Goodwin. “On a bigger night we’ll do double that.”
Known as the finisher, Goodwin’s quick-moving eyes roam the stacks of freshly fried cake doughnuts. She pulls out the “prettiest” ones, which will be left plain. The next best will be glazed, and the ones with any distortions or dents will be rolled into a Dutch mix.
“I’ve been working here on and off since 2001,” Goodwin says, constantly moving to pull symmetrical doughnuts into an awaiting container. “It’s a really good job. I’m the finisher. I fill and dip doughnuts. I also do apple fritters.”
The apple fritters aren’t just the run-of-the mill pastries. They are about the size of a salad plate.
“Those are giant apple fritters,” says one customer.
“They are, but around here, we just call them ‘regular’ fritters,” says Bruce Slovak, a Donut Country employee who serves customers.
Holding court like entertainers of yore, Slovak cracks jokes, breaks into song and makes a show of even the most mundane tasks.
“Sometimes it is slow, sometimes pretty steady,” he says stacking paper sacks for to-go doughnut orders. “We get a lot of college students. I’d say 60 to 70 percent of our customers are. We have some regulars.”
Regulars with doughnut alarm clocks wander in as soon as the first batch is ready. They grab some coffee and a few doughnuts and slip into a corner booth. Laptops, textbooks and ear-buds signal a late night study session.
“I love that this place is family-owned,” says Slovak, leaning against a glass display case. The warm aroma of frying dough wafts through the cracks of the open shelving behind him. “I love to interact with customers. You can be genuine, not fake, and shove sales down their throat.”
Slovak laughs and carries on with customers. Just through a rack of shelves the bakers keep the doughnuts coming in time with some classic rock tunes.
“It keeps us going,” Barry says. “We listen to everything from classic to country to techno.”
Sheets of cut doughnuts go into the “proofer” which allows the dough to rise. It must sit for an hour before they are ready to be fried and finished.
“You have to stay ahead of it,” he says.
Across the room Goodwin is packing up three dozen cake doughnuts for a veteran’s home.
Slovak’s infectious laugh echoes above the hum of the 80-degree kitchen.
“It’s just a typical night,” Barry says.
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