Last Friday was National Doughnut Day. Last Friday was also a part of SFWA’s Nebula Awards weekend. Surely there had to be some way to celebrate both?

There was!

Since there was no programming that morning I felt like witnessing, I took off—with Wayne Rambo, husband of incoming SFWA president Cat Rambo—in search of some of Chicago’s best donuts to bring back to for several hundred of my closest friends. And to see some of the city at the same time, of course. It was a walk meant to be around 2-1/2 miles, but thanks to the vagaries of National Doughnut Day, by the time we were done, we’d hiked nearly five.

First stop—Firecakes, at which my favorite donut has always been their butterscotch-praline variety.

But, this being National Doughnut Day, they were sold out of them. Still, I bought as many donuts as could fit into one of their boxes, and then it was off to our second stop—the Doughnut Vault.

Which is where the weirdness began.

We arrived to find the store locked up, with a SOLD OUT sign in the window.

On National Doughnut Day?

Aren’t donut shops supposed to be baking and frying until there’s no more flour in the city? How strange!

But that didn’t stop us from snapping pics of their food truck parked nearby. A food truck within which, once my photo had been snapped, I noticed an employee trying not to be seen. An employee with (or so it appeared) hundreds of donuts.

“I want to buy donuts,” I said through the glass of the closed window.

“I can’t sell you any,” she said.

“You can’t be serious,” I said. “Please, sell me some donuts!”

I showed her the box I was carrying, and explained how we needed box of theirs, too, so we could do a taste test.

“I’m not allowed,” she told me. “I’m not in service.”

“Where are you going then?” I asked. “Where will you be selling them?”

“I can’t tell you,” she said. “You’ll have to wait until I tweet it. Follow us on Twitter!”

“Really,” I said, gobsmacked. “Really?”

Then she pulled away, leaving us standing before a sad and lonely donut shop, me staring at my iPhone, waiting for her Twitter update.

And while we waited, multiple groups of donut seekers arrived, and I repeated to each of them my sorry tale. When they’d point at my box of donuts and ask, “But where’d you get those?,” I’d tell them all about Firecakes, and then off they’d wander.

After about 20 minutes of that, with no Twitter update, Wayne and I started walking back to the Palmer House, figuring this just wasn’t going to happen. And as we passed Firecakes, we were pleased to see the line filled with people we’d sent their way.

Then—Twitter delivered!

Not the location of the food truck, but an update that their other location, the one over on Canal Street, had restocked and now had a limited supply of donuts. But they warned that anybody who wanted one had to act fast.

And act fast we did. Noting how far away that branch was, and suspecting that by the time we could walk there, the donuts would likely be gone, I fired up Uber and we were quickly there, where I ordered a box with two each of all seven available varieties …

… plus one for me to sit and eat for breakfast. A pistachio old-fashioned, of course!

And you know what? During the 10 minutes I sipped tea and nibbled a donut, that branch of the Doughnut Vault sold out again.

Feeling triumphant, we began to head back to the hotel, but even though we had two boxes stuffed with donuts, something seemed off. It seemed too … binary. A third brand of donuts seemed necessary, and a quick check of Yelp showed that along the way, we’d pass Beavers, which sells mini-donuts topped with many strange flavors, such as the Rock Star (strawberry sauce and pop rocks) and the Goombah (cannoli topping and fumbled pastry shells).

They sell sixteen different varieties … and we got one of each.

Thus laden down, we made our way back to the Palmer Hotel, using the Nebulas hashtag to tweet along the way that donuts would soon be available there. And who should we meet at the bar but Mary Robinette Kowal and Barry Goldblatt, on whom we forced our wares. (Though when donuts are involved, can it really be called forcing?)

Others came along, and after the crowd dissipated, we moved the donuts up to the con suite, where they were swiftly devoured.

After all that, perhaps you’re wondering … who made the best donuts?

To which I respond—but wait, there’s more!

Late Saturday afternoon, as I was leaving a party being thrown by Tor Books at Geek Bar Beta, I discovered another donut shop—Stan’s. I was in no mood for donuts just then, thanks to my filling lunch earlier in the day at Big Jones, but as I walked the four miles back to the hotel (how do you think I can afford to eat donuts?) I decided I’d come back early Monday morning before my flight home.

Which I did, walking those same miles back, to have a lemon-pistachio old-fashioned with chamomile tea. (See, I told you I was a sucker for pistachio.)

There are other well-known donut shops in Chicago, such as Glazed and Infused and Do-Rite, but I never made to either of those. They’ll have to wait until the Nebulas return to Chicago next year.

But out of the four I did sample, the clear winner was—The Doughnut Vault! Their old-fashioneds were perfect, whether pistachio, almond, orange, or plain. So say the donut-eaters of SFWA!

Don’t worry, Chicago—next year we’ll be back to eat all the rest of the donuts!