Here's something you might be interested in.
Ask a Hipster — Advice you didn't know you needed
Big Screen — Movie commentary
Blurt — Music's inside track
Booze News — San Diego spirits
Classical Music — Immortal beauty
Classifieds — Free and easy
Cover Stories — Front-page features
Drinks All Around — Bartenders' drink recipes
Excerpts — Literary and spiritual excerpts
Feast! — Food & drink reviews
Feature Stories — Local news & stories
Fishing Report — What’s getting hooked from ship and shore
From the Archives — Spotlight on the past
Golden Dreams — Talk of the town
The Gonzo Report — Making the musical scene, or at least reporting from it
Letters — Our inbox
Movies@Home — Local movie buffs share favorites
Movie Reviews — Our critics' picks and pans
Musician Interviews — Up close with local artists
Neighborhood News from Stringers — Hyperlocal news
News Ticker — News & politics
Obermeyer — San Diego politics illustrated
Outdoors — Weekly changes in flora and fauna
Overheard in San Diego — Eavesdropping illustrated
Poetry — The old and the new
Reader Travel — Travel section built by travelers
Reading — The hunt for intellectuals
Roam-O-Rama — SoCal's best hiking/biking trails
San Diego Beer — Inside San Diego suds
SD on the QT — Almost factual news
Sheep and Goats — Places of worship
Special Issues — The best of
Street Style — San Diego streets have style
Surf Diego — Real stories from those braving the waves
Theater — On stage in San Diego this week
Tin Fork — Silver spoon alternative
Under the Radar — Matt Potter's undercover work
Unforgettable — Long-ago San Diego
Unreal Estate — San Diego's priciest pads
Your Week — Daily event picks
Hill Street Donuts makes life sweet
A little bit of local love for a longtime confectionary
The neighborhood sweet spot.
As I pulled out my single dollar bill, I shrugged my shoulders and made a sad face at the Vietnamese man behind the glass at Oceanside’s Hill Street Donut House. The jelly donut I wanted cost $1.39, and I was unexpectedly short. The man paused, then nodded to indicate that it was OK, and slid the donut into a white paper bag for me. He was short, bald, and a little plump, and he shuffled a bit. Some deformity of his arm left it hanging limp by his side, but he moved efficiently, head down, rarely speaking or holding eye contact. Usually, there was a lady — presumably his wife — working the cash register, but she was busy baking in the back. I grasped the white bag, smiling guiltily, and thinking that tomorrow, I’d stop by and sneak $5 into the tip jar.
As I enjoyed my confection, I imagined the couple toiling in the wee hours of the morning, preparing all sorts of sweet and baked goodies for working-class South Oceanside locals, myself included. I visited nearly once a week — clad in old sweats, wearing no makeup, my bedhead still in full effect — usually for a warm cheese-filled croissant, my dog sitting just outside the door. The shop had been here ever since I first moved here in the early ‘80s; these owners have been here for at least the last decade. Open every day. Cash only until just last year. (Now, a handwritten sign by the cash register apologizes and notes that credit card purchases include a 50 cent charge.) Advertising consisted of a rough-and-ready handwritten sign in the window announcing “Jalepeno Ham & Cheese Croisant.” No pomp. No pretense. A block away, a newer, more expensive coffee shop catered to folks who had time to sit at the outside patio and concentrate on their laptops along with their lattes and French pastries.
As I finished the last bite, shamelessly licking my fingers, I found myself wishing I knew more of their story. Once, last summer when the lady commented, “Long time, no see,” I explained that I’d been on vacation, and asked if she would be taking one. She only smiled and shook her head no. I realized I had never even asked their names, how they came to this area, how they came to run their shop, what the business meant to them.
That was almost five years ago; pandemic days. Today, I find comfort in continuing to frequent Hill Street Donut House, knowing it has weathered the storm. Walking west on Vista Way, I take in the bustling scene, the string of new small businesses — including the yoga shops and restaurants that have replaced the old family-owned Red and White grocery store, for years a neighborhood icon. But I feel I can count on my donut shop to stay the course. The plexiglass is gone now. Seating is once again available inside; Covid couldn’t kill the old-fashioned ambiance and atmosphere. I say, “Good Morning” to the lady behind the counter, and she starts to heat up my croissant before I even have time to say, “I’ll have my usual.”
Here's something you might be interested in.
Hill Street Donuts makes life sweet
A little bit of local love for a longtime confectionary
Hill Street Donuts makes life sweet
A little bit of local love for a longtime confectionary
The neighborhood sweet spot.
As I pulled out my single dollar bill, I shrugged my shoulders and made a sad face at the Vietnamese man behind the glass at Oceanside’s Hill Street Donut House. The jelly donut I wanted cost $1.39, and I was unexpectedly short. The man paused, then nodded to indicate that it was OK, and slid the donut into a white paper bag for me. He was short, bald, and a little plump, and he shuffled a bit. Some deformity of his arm left it hanging limp by his side, but he moved efficiently, head down, rarely speaking or holding eye contact. Usually, there was a lady — presumably his wife — working the cash register, but she was busy baking in the back. I grasped the white bag, smiling guiltily, and thinking that tomorrow, I’d stop by and sneak $5 into the tip jar.
As I enjoyed my confection, I imagined the couple toiling in the wee hours of the morning, preparing all sorts of sweet and baked goodies for working-class South Oceanside locals, myself included. I visited nearly once a week — clad in old sweats, wearing no makeup, my bedhead still in full effect — usually for a warm cheese-filled croissant, my dog sitting just outside the door. The shop had been here ever since I first moved here in the early ‘80s; these owners have been here for at least the last decade. Open every day. Cash only until just last year. (Now, a handwritten sign by the cash register apologizes and notes that credit card purchases include a 50 cent charge.) Advertising consisted of a rough-and-ready handwritten sign in the window announcing “Jalepeno Ham & Cheese Croisant.” No pomp. No pretense. A block away, a newer, more expensive coffee shop catered to folks who had time to sit at the outside patio and concentrate on their laptops along with their lattes and French pastries.
As I finished the last bite, shamelessly licking my fingers, I found myself wishing I knew more of their story. Once, last summer when the lady commented, “Long time, no see,” I explained that I’d been on vacation, and asked if she would be taking one. She only smiled and shook her head no. I realized I had never even asked their names, how they came to this area, how they came to run their shop, what the business meant to them.
That was almost five years ago; pandemic days. Today, I find comfort in continuing to frequent Hill Street Donut House, knowing it has weathered the storm. Walking west on Vista Way, I take in the bustling scene, the string of new small businesses — including the yoga shops and restaurants that have replaced the old family-owned Red and White grocery store, for years a neighborhood icon. But I feel I can count on my donut shop to stay the course. The plexiglass is gone now. Seating is once again available inside; Covid couldn’t kill the old-fashioned ambiance and atmosphere. I say, “Good Morning” to the lady behind the counter, and she starts to heat up my croissant before I even have time to say, “I’ll have my usual.”
Comments