Recently, we embarked on a quest that called for plenty of driving and searching, tasting and comparing. Yes, we set out to round up the best doughnuts in town.

And yes, as these delectable little fried rings of goodness piled higher and higher before us, our little gastronomic foray could have included a cardiologist, a personal trainer, a dental hygienist and a tailor – one adept at letting out trousers at the waist.

What we found didn't necessarily change our lives, but it certainly altered our outlook.

And it recast the story before you.

What we found was that nearly all doughnut shops are making the same doughnuts. At the risk of being struck by a bolt of lightning, that sameness includes the almost mythical Marie's Donuts, whose doughnuts look and taste the same as those at 16th Street Donuts, Donut Star and Donut Fair, among many others.

The differences in look, feel and taste are minuscule. Nearly all of the glazed donuts weighed 2.5 ounces and maple bars weighed 3.5 ounces, whether we loaded the pink boxes on El Camino Avenue or Freeport Boulevard or 16th Street.

The good news: All of these doughnuts are pretty good or good, not counting that recurring and vaguely unpleasant aftertaste. The bad news: They're not great.

Enter Doughbot Donuts, the fledgling, bare-bones and inspired doughnut shop on 10th Street run by a husband-wife team that has the audacity to look beyond all standard shortcuts pervasive in the industry – the dry doughnut mix delivered in trash bags, the tubs of shelf-stable fillings loaded with preservatives, high-fructose corn syrup – and take an artisanal approach to doughnuts. They emphasize quality ingredients, freshness and a mix of creativity coupled with old-fashioned values.

This approach resembles the artisan bread movement that has flourished over the past 15 years throughout the United States. Like artisan bread, doughnuts made from scratch are something the avid home cook could try. As the recipe on Page D2 makes clear, the proper ingredients and attention to detail (that oil must be 375 degrees Fahrenheit) can produce a delicious batch of doughnuts.

As for Doughbot, this new shop could create a new niche market – and inspire a gentle shift in understanding – if enough people embrace the different look and texture, the unusual and sometimes savory flavors and, yes, the higher prices.

What's already happening: The Doughbot doughnut is teaching us what a real doughnut with real ingredients is supposed to taste like, for better or worse.

Fervent crowds have flocked to Doughbot since the beginning. The shop sold out by 8 a.m. on opening day, Sept. 3.

But detractors have shown up, too. The doughnuts are too heavy, too cakey, too odd, and too expensive, they say. They're not sweet enough or familiar enough. They're not cooked all the way through (which has been true a time or two).

And, they're not like Marie's, which is not in dispute.

Doughbot's doughnuts cost $1.75 to $2, and the shop includes several vegan doughnuts. Marie's and most other shops in the area charge about 80 cents per doughnut.

Doughbot is owned by Bryan Widener and his wife, Dannah O'Donnell. Widener, who worked as a line cook at the much-admired Magpie Café for two years, makes the doughnuts. O'Donnell works out front with the customers.

Widener began tinkering with homemade doughnuts a few years ago and began taking them to Magpie for his co-workers to try. That's not an easy bunch to please. But his fellow employees raved about them and Widener says Magpie chef-owner Ed Roehr told him, "You can do something with this."

The couple used their savings to open the new business and did not have to borrow money. They bought used doughnut-making equipment for $5,000. And then they got to work.

Widener begins making doughnuts at 10 p.m. and usually calls it a day by 1 p.m. the next day. In the first weeks of business, O'Donnell has sometimes been overwhelmed by the crowds and the stress of getting orders filled promptly.

The array of doughnuts might make some joyful, and others perplexed. Apple-bacon fritter; pink lemonade-flavored doughnut made from fresh-squeezed lemons with a raspberry purée glaze; a frosted chili chocolate that leaves behind spicy heat on the palate; PB&J with organic peanut butter and strawberry preserves; and something called The Dude, which features white Russian whipped cream and vodka glaze, topped with a single crunchy coffee bean.

For the sweet caramel that tops the dulce de leche, Widener boils down condensed milk for up to four hours, a trick he learned in culinary school.

Why not just pry open a bucket of caramel from the restaurant-supply store? That's not what Doughbot is about.

And in keeping with the shop's outlook, it offers delivery by bike via Edible Pedal.

The shop's selection changes often. I asked Widener about my lifelong favorite doughnut – the lemon filled – and told him how disillusioned I became when I took a critical look at the standard version locally. With the exception of New Roma Bakery, the filling all over Sacramento was neon-yellow, overly sweet and tasted more like a chemical experiment than a citrusy custard.

Widener says he understood what I meant. Like many doughnut fans, he grew up on Marie's. He knows most doughnut shops have pretty good doughnuts, but he also knows how they're made and what they're missing. He plans to offer a Meyer lemon doughnut when those naturally sweeter lemons are in season.

After all these years of kidding myself as I devoured my beloved lemon-filled doughnuts, leaving behind random smudges of powdered sugar on my face, I hope Doughbot might show me what they're really supposed to taste like.

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