Parlor Doughnuts' peanut butter cup donut

Most donut shops are independent operators, even individual operators. For example: with no employees on the payroll, the owner of my favorite neighborhood donuterry closes shop when he goes on vacation. Which typically means I need to find a donut alternative for the month of August, which has a lot to do with why I've finally made the effort to try Parlor Doughnuts.

Not an independent operator, Parlor happens to be a franchise founded in Evansville, Indiana. In five short years, the donut and coffee business has already grown to dozens of locations across more than a dozen states. As of a couple years ago, that's included California, and specifically Oceanside: a pretty little shop with arched, leaded glass windows behind the counter. Many times, I'd considered driving out there, to try these "doughnuts." But from where I live, that's a two hour round trip: not worth the while for an out-of-town donut franchise, I'd tell myself.

Then, last month, a new Parlor location appeared smack in the middle of North Park. And now I'm well-versed in the ways these donuts are different, and worth the drive.

The new Parlor Doughnuts location in North Park

Different from all those individual operators that, despite their relative independence, make all the same kinds of donuts in all the same variety of donut shapes: raised donuts, cake donuts, crullers, and old fashioneds. All the same size, perfectly round, with perfectly round holes in the center, even perfectly glazed with chocolate, maple, strawberry. Once unusual, even the hallmark purple shade of ube — the famously purple Filipino sweet potato — has become a nearly universal sight in San Diego donut shops.

So the big shock in trying Parlor Doughnuts, is the discovery that these franchise donuts are... let's say irregular. They're generally round, and they generally have a hole in the middle. But they look lumpy, misshapen, with mottled crusts that are dusted with sugar before being glazed. The glaze itself may be uneven, like somebody poured it out of a paintcan and left it to dry, thin in some parts, thicker and spilling over the side of the donut in others.

A raspberry pistachio donut, with a bite revealing its croissant-like interior

They are also incredibly tasty. These are what most of might consider cronuts, the croissant and donut hybrid that got internet famous in the last decade. I don't pretend to know whether Parlor's shops make layered, laminated dough with the same rigor as a French bakery, but the results are much the same. When it comes to Parlor's "layered doughnuts," the fried dough delivers some of the same traits that make croissants so appealing: it's crispy on the outside, with an airy yet buttery center.

I'm certain they'd taste good without the added sugar and glaze (called the Plain Jane), but it's tough to tear yourself away from Parlor's sweet, occasionally elaborate glazes. There's peanut butter cup, drizzled with both peanut butter and chocolate; Cookies N' Cream with vanilla glaze, chocolate syrup, and cookie crumbles; and Campfire, with chocolate glaze, marshmallows, and graham cracker crumbs. It makes interesting use of nuts: a maple pecan donut's glaze is studded with pecans, while a raspberry pistachio achieves the same effect with markedly different flavors.

A "cookies n' cream" donut

And while most neighborhood donut shops offer standard, raised donuts for less than a buck apiece, I have zero qualms that individual donut here goes for $3.65 (reduced to $2.65 each when you buy a dozen). Because, weird as they may look, these buttery donuts are filling, and fantastic. Hey, may even be worth the trek to Oceanside.