Dahlia Lounge is home to my newest, favoritest, bestest last meal on earth. You can tell that to the burly men in uniforms outside my cell.
Donut balls shaken in a paperbag of sugar and cinnamon, served with two types of dips – one jam and one vanilla mascarpone – both outrageously sweet. I don’t even know what mascarpone is. I just like to say it, and I’m totally winging the spelling here.
And while I’m on the topic of donut balls: Why isn’t Dahlia Lounge serving me the rest of the donut? I mean, the actual donut itself?
Who created the first donut anyway? And why does it have a hole in the middle? What does every donut store in the world do with the leftover “balls”?
I smell a conspiracy.
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