My Krispy Kreme Love Story

I was seven years old when my world changed forever. It happened on Pio Nono Avenue in Macon sometime in 1972. That’s the year Krispy Kreme opened its doors, introducing my childhood palate to the warm doughnut.

My sister and I often tagged along with our mother on her morning trips to Macon, where she’d handle bookwork and deposits for AAA Trailer Hitch and U-Haul, my dad and uncle’s business. Those excursions became much more exciting when Mom decided to investigate a new doughnut shop my Uncle Edwin Jarriel had mentioned to her. It was only six or seven minutes from the shop. We parked the car, went inside, and BAM! I’ll never forget walking through those glass doors and being hit with the intoxicating aroma of sugary sweet doughnuts—a smell that seduces me even to this day. It instantly puts my senses on high alert!

That first bite of a hot Krispy Kreme doughnut was nothing short of ecstasy. I had never experienced anything like it before—the way it practically dissolved on my tongue, the perfect balance of sweetness, the warmth that radiated from the dough.

Well, needless to say, we became regulars. And much like visiting an ice cream parlor, part of the joy was the agony of making a choice. Would I go with a classic glazed doughnut, with its shiny, sticky coating? Or maybe one of those cream-filled treats—vanilla, chocolate, or strawberry jam pumped into their centers? The chocolate- iced ones were sinful, and don’t get me started on the ones dusted with powdered cocoa or sugar that left trace evidence on my face and clothes. Vernon Rudolph started this empire way back in 1937, shortly after purchasing a yeast-raised donut recipe from a New Orleans man and opening his first shop in Winston-Salem, North Carolina. His shop was a hit. The demand was so overwhelming that he literally had to cut a hole in the wall of the building to serve customers gathered out on the sidewalk. Georgia got its first taste in 1965 with a wholesale store in Atlanta. Again, Macon’s shop didn’t open until 1972.

By the 1980s, Krispy Kreme had four Macon locations, though we only stopped by the Pio Nono shop. Everyone in Central Georgia had embraced doughnuts. They had (and have) an addictive power over humans.

The genius of Krispy Kreme lies not just in their glazed confections, but in the theater of it all—and the anticipation. Watching those doughnuts continued from page

travel along a conveyor belt behind glass windows is so, so, so satisfying. And then there’s that evil invention on the roadside: the “Hot Light” sign, a beacon of temptation signaling fresh doughnuts are coming out of the oven right now. It calls to me.

When they’re warm, Krispy Kreme doughnuts are out of this world—so fresh, so soft, so delicious. Eating one with my eyes closed is like taking a fiveminute escape into pure, sugary bliss. But let’s be honest here. Doughnuts are not a health food. Indeed, they’re partially responsible for making us Americans, well, let’s just say “rounder.”

I know this, and I still can’t stop eating them. Krispy Kreme doughnuts will always remind me of my childhood and those priceless moments when Mom, my sister, and I would pull over and take some “us time.” Those sweet memories aren’t about the sugar at all, but about the people I shared those experiences with. Those Krispy Kreme runs weren’t just about doughnuts; they were about family and finding joy in the small, simple things in life—together. Isn’t that what life’s all about?

So thanks for the memories, Krispy Kreme!