The pink box is a distinctly regional tradition, one so ingrained it often requires an outsider to notice. The Northeast has Dunkin Donuts and its neon orange and pink box. The South has Krispy Kreme and its polka dot box. But come to Los Angeles and its the no-frills pink box, with signature grease marks, that commands counter space in our offices, waiting rooms and police stations.
Anytime you see a movie or sitcom set in New York and a pink doughnut box appears, you know it obviously took place in L.A., says Peter Yen of Santa Ana Packaging, a local manufacturer of the carnation-pink containers that cost about a dime each.
One thing is certain, though, the pink box phenomenon could only happen here. Southern California is the undisputed epicenter of the doughnut world a testament to our love affair with junk food you can handle behind a steering wheel. L.A. County alone has at least 680 doughnut shops, according to Yelp, about 200 more than New York City and double the number in Chicagos Cook County.
Instead of national chains, the Southern California doughnut sector is dominated by mom-and-pop businesses run by immigrants, none more influential than Cambodian Americans.
Landing here as refugees in the mid-1970s to escape the Khmer Rouge, the Southeast Asian community quickly found a lifeline in the demanding doughnut business, giving it an outsized role in the expanding waistlines of countless Angelenos and the spread of an unsung culinary icon.
An ambitious Cambodian refugee named Ted Ngoy was building a vast network of doughnut shops and staffing them with hundreds of countrymen whose visas he sponsored. Ngoy (the g is silent) started in La Habra and expanded to Fullerton, Anaheim and Buena Park. It wasnt long before Cambodian doughnut stores spread to L.A. County too, upending a market that had long been dominated by the Winchells Donuts chain.
Ngoy grew fantastically rich and bought a 7,000-square-foot mansion in Mission Viejo, a vacation home in Big Bear and a time-share in Acapulco. Then he squandered his wealth gambling in an epic reversal of fortune first chronicled in the Times in 2005.
Ted could talk a bird out of a tree, said Chuong Lee, who married Ngoys nephew and bought DKs Donuts in Santa Monica in 1981. Hes such a good businessman. But every time hed go to Las Vegas, hed lose one of his stores.
According to company lore, a Cambodian doughnut shop owner asked Westco some four decades ago if there were any cheaper boxes available other than the standard white cardboard. So Westco found leftover pink cardboard stock and formed a 9-by-9-by-4-inch container with four semicircle flaps to fold together. To this day, people in the business refer to the box as the 9-9-4.
Its the perfect fit for a dozen doughnuts, said Jim Parker, BakeMarks president and chief executive.
More importantly to the thrifty refugees, it cost a few cents less than the standard white. Thats a big deal for shops that go through hundreds, if not thousands, of boxes a week. It didnt hurt either that pink was a few shades short of red, a lucky color for the refugees, many of whom are ethnic Chinese. White, on the other hand, is the color of mourning.
ngeles Times)
How the pink box has persevered so long may be about more than just dollars and cents. Experts say the color triggers an emotional connection to sweetness that makes doughnuts more irresistible than they already are.
Its romantic and childlike and it entices you, said Kimberly Marte, who teaches at the Art Center College of Design in Pasadena and helped Tesla Motors choose its hues. It makes you crave sugar.
http://www.latimes.com/business/la-fi-pink-doughnut-boxes-20170525-htmlstory.html