Let’s say you want to start a food business and maybe your raison d'être is a damn fine recipe and a yearning to recreate the flavors of your childhood. You might even describe a heroic and soul-saving escape (read: layoffs) from the talons of corporate life as reason enough to throw your hat into the culinary ring.
If you’re Tommy Chang and Will Chen of Kin Donut Shop, you may have even shared some of these reasons – good, sensible reasons – out loud and to folks early on during the arduous days of recipe development and weekend pop-ups and late-night hours when you wondered what, exactly, was it all for, anyway? And then one day and somewhere between a fruitful Kickstarter campaign and signing the lease on your very own space, your mission statement whispers to you in plain speak: your tower of delicate Hokkaido brioche and mochi donuts would be built on a foundation of kindness - you know, the hopeful noun that keeps humanity from setting itself on fire.
The morning I read about Chang and Chen’s modestly simple declaration – their desire to remind Central Coasters that everything and especially donuts taste better with a dollop of compassion – I set my avocado toast down and took notice.
I also had questions. What does kindness actually taste like, I wondered. Does a donut fried in a pool of encouraging thoughts alter its flavor and structure – much like Dr. Masaru Emoto’s experiments on the impact negative and positive words have on water? Could a baker’s good intentions be transmuted into yeast as Laura Esquivel describes in her novel Como Agua Para Chocolate? I pulled into the Turnpike Shopping Center’s parking lot on a Friday morning to find out.
The first thing I discover is that kindness really does beget kindness, as evidenced by the calm appearance of the nearly three dozen people waiting in line when I arrive. Some quietly read books or chat up strangers as the line sways forward at a steady pace. Kin baristas greet every new face with a demicup of barley tea and a warm thank you for your patience while Chang helps customers balance stacked boxes out the front door.
Inside, a long and sleek wooden bench lines one side of the shoebox bakery, where customers tap their feet to K-pop tunes while waiting for their orders to arrive. Light dapples against the vanilla walls – almost completely bare save for a few slim shelves housing a charming collection of found items and a menu projected just above the register. Baristas busy themselves pulling shots of espresso that they pour over ice and milk before topping them with thick clouds of black sesame cream. Further back, the expert hands of donut queens and kings cradle pillows of pastries from behind a glass wall.
Chang sets down a shimmering box of donuts next to me and carefully hand mimes the best way to eat the yeast raised variety: cream side up, where each flavor profile is carefully layered from top to bottom. I pick up the first one and sink into crisp slivers of nectarine swirled around honey-scented custard. Fresh cream spills over lightly sweetened dough that springs back into shape after each sublime bite. Images of summertime creamsicles dance around in my head.
The smooth-as-mousse chocolate one is next, perfumed with earl grey tea and topped with crunchy pebbles of pistachios that add texture and depth to the refined filling. By the time I tuck into the guava cream cheese, I find myself laughing out loud in disbelief. A flavor pairing made famous by Elena Reygadas of Rosetta Bakery in Mexico City, Kin’s variation includes a light-as-air whipped cream cheese and silky guava paste suspended around a pillow of milk bread brioche. The balance of tang and fruit and sweetness is what donut dreams are made of. When I finally look up from my almost empty box, everyone around me is flashing absurdist expressions, too. I polish off the mochi donuts on my drive home, popping pearls of spongy rice flour cake into my mouth as I reflect on the morning’s scene. Between bites of elegant and smoky black sesame and kicky yuzu dusted with matcha, the palpable joy floating through the bakery still echoes around me. Chang and Chen’s operation resonates a quiet sincerity that swirls above the speed racks in the kitchen, spills onto the coffee counter, and permeates boxes of delicate confections. Each bite hints at the Korean American experience, the resolve of entrepreneurship, and the audacity of leading with gentleness. So, what does kindness taste like? Today, it tastes like Kin Bakeshop, and Santa Barbara is all the better for it.
