Lou's donuts 'hole-some' patriotism

By Nick Norman

Don't be fooled. Lou's Living Donut Museum is not a museum in the traditional sense -- nor are the donuts living. They are as lifeless, albeit tasty, as one would expect.

When planning a visit to this San Jose mecca of grass roots culture, one might reasonably expect diagrams of donut evolution, to crave schematics of glaze's crystalline structure. And, naturally, to desire to indulge in some heart-slowing donut tastiness.

But what may begin as a primarily educational foray -- if you consider the history of donuts worthy knowledge -- will quickly transform into a much different, and much more wholesome, adventure.

Lou's Living Donut Museum sits on an unambitious, unassuming street corner about two blocks from the HP Pavilion near downtown San Jose. Freeway overpasses nearly cloak the tiny establishment in permanent shade. Gray, lonely establishments imprison this gem of Americana.

You can hardly see into Lou's, due to the zealous hand-painted signs carpeting their windows. Hyperactive grinning donuts dance and claim to be "The best in the Bay Area since 1955."

But Lou's will have to let the public be the judge of that.

Cheery jazz music greets visitors upon opening the door. This place has it all: the autographed headshots from B-list actors, the framed clippings from local newspapers and magazines, American flags, 9/11 memorabilia and a guestbook. A perfunctory glance through the signatures reveals guests from Washington, D.C.; South Carolina; Maine; Utah; New York; and even London. Apparently Lou has left quite an impression.

Waiting to order from the eight or so choices, it's worth taking a closer look beyond the ubiquitous hallmarks of a family-run joint. A papier-mache donut the size of a monster truck's tire hangs in the background. The open kitchen sports framed hot rod drawings and a shrine of the Virgin Mary towering over an assortment of robe-clad, bearded men.

Behind the counter stands Ralph Chavira, the current head honcho at Lou's. He is instantly recognizable from a photo hanging on the cluttered wall. In the professional portrait -- complete with marbled blue backdrop and glossy finish -- Chavira's family stands clustered around an enthroned Joe Montana. Truly intriguing.

His hair is gelled into a solid gray comb-over, and his thick wire-rimmed glasses hint that he isn't fond of change. The combination of his advancing years and slender frame also suggest he isn't a huge fan of his own product. Having taken the order, he's open to chatting about the establishment's history. His pride seeps through every sentence like donut grease through a napkin as he speaks of Lou, the establishment's founding father.

Here's where the museum part comes into the experience. According to Chavira, the eponymous Lou Ades began his donut-making business in 1955, which he sold to his long-time employees, the Chavira brothers, before he passed away in '97. Lou was a decorated WWII bomber pilot, so his family transformed the donut shop into a "living history museum to honor Lou and all the veterans of all wars."

Indeed, model airplanes from an assortment of wars hang from the paneled ceiling. They engage in a bizarrely incestuous dogfight free of any temporal limitations. Biplanes from WWI strafe Vietnam-era bombers while a Pterodactyl covered in Navy decals screeches at a WWII jet.

In the corner, a small library brings credibility to the "museum." Out of the dozen books available, (including three by Tom Brokaw) some titles are particularly eye-catching: "Patton: A Genius for War," "When Character was King: The Life of Ronald Reagan" and "How to Dunk a Doughnut."

As the curiosity-seeker munches on a maple bar, a steady stream of customers saunters into this bizarre time-warp. Gruff workmen in plaid flannel shirts and baseball caps come for black coffee and traditional glazed. A businessman in a pink shirt orders a bear claw. A mother and chocolate-smeared daughter spend some time together while the obligatory fat man, two donuts away from complete cardiac arrest, wheezes his way to the counter.

The donuts are tasty, but not incredible. However, they do get their holes back as tumor-like appendages. Just like everything else at Lou's, find ultimate value in personality.

Overall, Lou's Living Donut Museum packs immensely wholesome pride and perseverance into its tiny borders. It's unpretentious, confident, and very aware of its humble beginnings--Americana at its finest.

Contact Nick Norman at (408) 551-1918 or npnorman@scu.edu