Filipinos, whenever you travel to California, what tops your bucket list? While I love Disneyland, Universal Studios, and the outlet shops like every other Pinoy with a cut-out of someone’s foot in their wallet, there’s one thing I look forward to the most in NorCal and SoCal—the pink doughnut box.

@replikate How do I love my pink box doughnuts? Let me count the ways! #pinkboxdoughnuts #pinkbox #doughnuts #donuts #cali ♬ original sound – Kate Alvarez (KateWasHere.com)

I’m not referring to a specific brand per se, but there is a telling description that loyal patrons know too well: It’s a small, independent doughnut shop that’s run by an immigrant Asian family. The customers leave the doughnut shop carrying their stash in a pink brandless cardboard box. Wherever you are in Cali, when you spot a person carrying that generic pink cardboard box with noticeable grease marks, you can almost taste what’s inside.

These indie doughnut shops are scattered around California. There’s an old-school but homey feel when you enter each doughnut shop, almost like entering your grandma’s house (from the good side of the family) on a Sunday morning. One whiff and you’ll smell freshly brewed coffee and doughnuts right out of the oven—from basic glazed to more extravagant flavors.

You will be tempted to order more than just that one piece of sugary twisty doughnut you had planned to purchase before entering the shop. And temptation wins every time. How can you not fill up that pink box with several buns of goodness? Add a cold pint of milk or brewed coffee and your morning is made.

My family has been coming to and from the US since the ’80s, and the hunt for the pink box doughnut has been almost like a tradition for me and my sister. I remember one time circa the early 2000s when we booked a month’s stay in a Cerritos inn, and the doughnut shop was just a stone’s throw from our block. My sister and I would eat doughnuts and cow’s milk every morning until we noticed our jeans were starting to feel a little too tight.

A little Googling led me to articles about the cultural origins of these doughnut shops. They indeed began with Asian refugees—Cambodian-Americans in the 1980s, to be exact. The reason why these family-run businesses used the same pink boxes isn’t a cryptic message or tradition to be traced. It simply was made from leftover pink cardboard stock, which Westco (the manufacturer) produced for a much cheaper price than their white versions. In industry terms, these pink boxes were called 994 and became popular with Asian-American doughnut shop owners. Not only were they cheaper to buy, but one pink box perfectly fit a dozen doughnuts.

This year I traveled to the US from the Philippines by myself but stayed with relatives and friends. The first thing my sister asked when she checked on me was, “Did you eat the pink box doughnuts yet?” I was happy to report that I did.

A family friend in San Francisco took me to Royal Doughnut in Skyline Plaza, Daly City. It was exactly as I remember all my beloved Cali doughnut shops from yesteryears—down to the old-school store layout and ambiance, so old-school that I couldn’t even find their social media accounts online. The only difference is that the pink box isn’t a plain light pink hue anymore. This one was striped pink and white.

In Orange County, my cousin asked me where I wanted to eat for my final breakfast in the city before flying to Michigan, the next stop of my trip. I told him about my pink box doughnut story. He took me to Dough Boy Doughnuts near Newport Beach, where I had a big cinnamon roll with a piping hot cup of arabica coffee. No pink box this time as I had no more space in my carry-on. But I did send photos and videos of the doughnuts to my sister just to let her know: Mission accomplished!

I’ll take these pink box doughnuts over the Dunkins and Krispy Kremes of the world any given day.

What’s your favorite neighborhood doughnut shop?