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Ode to Honey's s h o r t s t o r y | by B r e t t Stone Ed. note: This past December, The North Shore Writers' Association the way from his film location outside of Vancouver just to taste one. It didn't take. eccentric movie star to confirm that the doughnuts sold at Honey's are the best concoction of dough, sugar, and butter ever assembled on the planet. That is, if that's all they are. When the internationally famous Mr. Nash came through the door in a Planet Hollywood baseball cap and torn jeans, Dex didn't recognize the actor. But that's Dex for you. He prefers paper to celluloid. He blames television for the breakdown of society, and Hollywood for the mass insecurity complex that's tormenting all of Canada and North America. "I'm much happier spending hours mulling over the complexities of a poem like William Carlos Williams' The Red Wheelbarrow," he says, "than chuckling at mindless sit-coms." As for me, I love television and movies. Poetry, too. William Carlos Williams. I slurp my coffee. "That's like naming your kid Bill Bill. Or Dex Dex." Dex has always sworn he'll never have children. He ranks adding to the overpopulation problem right up there with the ecological irresponsibility of eating red meat. But that's another discussion. "Have a doughnut," he says, offering his, then eats it himself. Dex has already written and destroyed one thousand twenty-seven homages to the perfect doughnut. And I--well, I have managed to start three. Dex has a strong aversion to rewriting. He hopes his repeated attempts will one day provoke his channel to open, and the perfect ode will just pour from his subconscious brain and spill onto the paper. I, on the other hand, prefer to agonize over a line or two--tweaking words and phrases murderously--until I can no longer recognize them. So far all I've got is: How do I love to eat thee? Let me count the ways. But then I've been reading far too much Elizabeth Barrett Browning lately. Silvana has promised a lifetime supply of her beloved doughnuts to the writer of an ode she considers genius. Why I am courting such a prize when I'm constantly dieting to maintain my size-six body I'll never know, but after one thousand and ninety-one days of effort I just can't back down. Maybe I foresee the small pleasure of being able to bring friends down to the Cove, seat them at my table at Honey's, and offer them a doughnut on the house. Or maybe it's the pride I'd feel while eating that doughnut if they could see the winning ode displayed in a small wooden frame. Whatever the motivation, Dex and I have made it part of our life's work. I've told Silvana many times that composing the ode would be a much easier task if she would just let me in on the secret to the doughnuts. "I don't give that recipe out to anyone," she said. She requires her chefs to sign a lawyer-prepared agreement to guard the recipe with their lives and take their knowledge of it to the grave. If they don't, they can expect to be sued. I applied for a job as a chef, but she turned me down flat. published Shore Lines, an anthology Shore celebrating residents. North Shore writing. All of are by North the stories, poems and illustrations The following is a short story from this little sparkles. gem of a book that truly For one thousand and ninety-one days, Dex and I have been coming to Honey's Doughnuts and Goodies, a tiny sidewalk cafe in Deep Cove, in the late afternoons. We sit at "our table"--the one against the wall, under the coat rack and the 1930s vintage radio, the one with a prime view of everyone who enters the place. From that vantage point we sip gourmet coffees, uncap our Bic ballpoint pens, and attempt to put words on paper that would best describe Honey's specialty--the perfect doughnut We knew Silvana, the owner, was onto something, long before Tatum Nash drove all January | February