Unlike Alice on an adventure in Wonderland, I don’t need a little card demanding, “Eat me!” to reach for the cake. You see, I have a raging sweet tooth. Whenever I smell freshly baked cookies, for example, my desire to eat them is like a five-year-old child having a tantrum on the floor.

The logical “parent” part of my brain lectures me on the consequences of failed exercise routines and excessive fat consumption while reminding me of the extra pounds I’ve gained lately. The five-year-old part simply doesn’t care.

While driving down Douglas Avenue on the way to downtown Wichita for a day of hotel inspections, I saw a historic brick building with a giant rooster on top of it. If that wasn’t intriguing enough, my gaze soon wandered down to the neon “Donut Whole” sign advertising a 24-hour drive-through.

After finding out on its website that, in addition to uniquely flavored donuts, this little eatery features an art gallery, live music and a coffee shop, I knew I had to check it out.

I walked in and saw immediately the Donut Whole was a hangout space. The darker back room was filled with people hunched over or sitting back from laptops, sipping coffee and munching donuts. Some were silent, others chatting with friends.

I bypassed the empty performance space and followed the distinct smell of chocolate, sugar and cake that was setting my brain on fire. I followed my nose as the intoxicating aroma wafted toward me from the front of the building, which is hidden because the back entrance is actually the front of the shop.

The sunlight streaming through the windows lit up a weird wonderland filled with an airport-themed pinball machine, rooster knickknacks and metal trays filled with a rainbow of assorted donuts. Old advertisements from the mid-20th Century welcomed me with anachronistic messages and instructions.

The Donut Whole focuses on the cake-style kind of donut rather than a yeast-raised version. The bakers start with a thick, traditional cake donut (nothing fancy) that’s soft, moist and not overwhelmingly rich.

In fact, I would say, the cake itself was a bit salty, providing the perfect base for the sultry, smooth, sweet icing. The combination was intoxicating. 

I ordered a variety of flavors— everything from a straight-forward buttermilk to an intense bacon maple—and settled into one of the 50s era chairs. After inhaling the first donut, a cherry cordial, I took a breather and glanced around at my fellow donut enthusiasts. It seems the Donut Whole is a spot where an eclectic assortment of characters from Wichita congregate, creating their own little Mad Hatter’s tea party.

I watched as an artist sitting across from me madly sketched patrons waiting in line, wisps of white hair floating and jerking with each hand movement. I overheard an aspiring film writer who looked to be 19 years, wearing socks with sandals, hit up a barista for friendship and possibly more.

Tattooed hipsters in skinny jeans sat glued to their laptops, thinking deep thoughts about man’s inhumanity to man and beasts—or so I imagined. Bleary-eyed parents bonded with their kids over the delicate decadence of donuts on a lazy Sunday morning.

If the motley crew of patrons is any indication, the draw of the perfect donut is universal. I enjoyed the rest of my donuts (yes, donuts plural — don’t judge), knowing I would return to this shop with each trip to Wichita.

If only there was a magic bottle to shrink me down to a healthier size after my week-long donut indulgence. Regardless, the world, at least the corner of it where Wichita sits, is a happier, more joyful place with the Donut Whole in it.