I’ve resided in Las Vegas since August 17, 2002, having moved from the northeastern reaches of New Jersey, real Springsteen and Sopranos country. I see the tourists who come here, and they are seekers. What they seek is pleasure, joy, bliss. I’m a hard-working but meagerly paid adjunct professor, and these qualities are not everyday occurrences for me. But October brought one of the most delightful experiences I’ve had since moving here.
Where was I when this idyllic moment occurred? At Cheetahs, getting a lap dance? At Boa Steakhouse, consuming a bone-in rib eye? At Binion’s, raking in a big pot at no-limit poker? Was I experiencing the genius of Cezanne and Picasso at the Guggenheim?
No. I was at the corner of Silverado Ranch and Bermuda purchasing a cup of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee.
At those other locales, when I’d find a dealer or an usher, a waitress or a college student or a stripper whose name tag or accent identified them as an East Coaster, one of my first inquiries was about coffee, if they knew any spots worth recommending. Often, our dialogue would take the form of a complaint. “How come there’re no Dunkin’ Donuts in Vegas?” We’d grumble about Starbucks (burnt-tasting, overpriced, overrated and ubiquitous) and all small-time imitators—tea and book and bean and leaf and whatever. I’d even get replies such as, “Come on, 7-Eleven makes pretty good coffee” and other such sacrilege.
Non-East Coasters just didn’t understand. A few years back, I—a man with no salient income and a shitload of student-loan debt—went so far as calling Dunkin’ corporate, pretending I was an entrepreneur interested in “franchising opportunities.” Once in a while I’d find a fellow northeasterner going through withdrawal, or someone who’s lived here for decades, telling me how Dunkin’ used to be here, that it shared a space Downtown with a Baskin Robbins, and that it came down just before I arrived.
D ’n’ D, as we sometimes call it, was founded by William Rosenberg in 1948 in Quincy, Massachusetts. Rosenberg’s flagship store was originally a small coffee-and-doughnut shop called the Open Kettle. The name was changed to Dunkin’ Donuts two years later. Today there are more than 7,000 locations worldwide, including surprising locales such as Qatar and the United Arab Emirates. The largest Dunkin’ is in Bangkok. The first TV commercials aired in the 1980s, and with them came pop-culture fame in the form of the punchline, “It’s time to make the doughnuts,” as spoken by sleep-starved employee Fred the Baker. The Television Board of Advertising named this one of the Top 5 Commercials of the ’80s. Even Dunkin’s spelling has taken over—donuts have largely replaced doughnuts, whether the grammarians like it or not. Dunkin’ serves more than 2 million cups of coffee a day worldwide. When I lived in Germany for three months I could get Dunkin’ Donuts, but not when I returned to Las Vegas.
I plan to stop in a couple of times a week for a cup. I’m no caffeine junkie; one’s enough for me. I order a large, with milk and two or three sugars. I drink it. I enjoy it. It makes me happy. It helps me forget the sadness and depression and unsureness and confusion. It focuses and centers me. Sometimes I order a doughnut or two, or a bacon, egg and cheese on an English muffin. In the summer there will be iced coffee, because I am skeptical of the overpriced and trendy-sounding Coolattas. In the winter I’ll take my coffee outside with me. I’ll hold it in one ungloved hand (50 degrees outside does not require a coat, desert people) as steam rises from it in a plume, and I may have to tell a fellow coffee-drinker that no, I don’t have a light, but I will chat graciously with him nonetheless.
People always ask, “How long ya been livin’ here? How do ya like it?” And I tell them how many years I’ve been in Vegas, how it’s not the heat that bothers me but the sheer length of the summers. Then I say I like it here just fine other than the interminable middle months; well, that and the food. No good bagels, pizza is passable at best and worst of all, no Dunkin’ Donuts. Until now!
Some marvel at my love of a corporate chain. They say, “Are they really all that?” or “What about Krispy Kremes?” KK is fine if you want a super-sugary hot, glazed doughnut, but Dunkin’ gives you a better variety (I recommend the cinnamon, the chocolate glazed and the Boston creme). More importantly, though: It isn’t about the doughnuts; it’s about the coffee! Piping hot java served—and not by a “barista”—in the slightly overbright, plastic-seat-dotted interior, that orange-and-magenta logo, the working-class individuals who frequent the chain (keep away, you latte-gulping yuppies and energy-drink-craving Generation Rx-ers), the comfort of a reliable low-cost product that tastes great every time.
While driving away from Dunkin’, already filled with hope and optimism, I saw another East Coast staple, Boston Market, being built nearby, which means I can dream, I can fantasize. True East Coast pizza or bagels may be impossibile, but I can let my mind wander, can I not, to a town full of Dunkin’ Donuts—50, 60, 100 locations—and, just maybe, the possibility of Taylor Ham sandwiches, or diners, or subway trains, or oceans, or, mmmm, White Castles.
We’re Thankful ...
... That when the choice is between Dunkin’ Donuts and Krispy Kreme, no one loses.