The Jelly Donut reopens — and a Mission family tradition continues

“What can I get you, mama?” Kannyka Nhul greets her customers with warmth and an easy familiarity at The Jelly Donut at the northeast corner of 24th Street and South Van Ness, the shop in which she practically grew up.

“I don’t know how they got to the donut business,” she shrugs, laughing about the stereotype that Asians, specifically Cambodians like her family, run donut shops. Born in Thailand at a camp for Cambodian refugees, Kannyka was a mere two years old when she arrived in San Francisco, along with several members of her extended family.

Kannyka’s brother Victor chimes in: “It’s very easy to learn. You need minimal English to learn, or just to operate the business.” 

Their older relatives who help run The Jelly Donut — their dad, their great aunt, a family friend they call “auntie” — still don’t speak much English, but have successfully steered this family business since 1987, except for the nearly two-year hiatus they recently took for renovations and seismic retrofitting.

The little shop has been holed up since August, 2019, and just reopened in late June — such a  long break that it took the Nhul siblings a minute to remember how long it’d been. The building, which spans almost half the block and houses multiple businesses, was covered in scaffolding and under construction since before the pandemic began. While the original sign in The Jelly Donut window said it would reopen within six months, delays and Covid-19 drew the process out. 

After nearly two years away, Kannyka, 39, and Victor, 32, are excited to be back. Though they didn’t have the money to do renovations themselves, the building’s new owners upgraded the interior of their shop to a fresh new look.  

“Hecka changed,” Kannyka said. “Oh my God, it changed, oh my God. You know how the ‘80s looked, right?” She compared the previous color scheme of the shop to a bunch of pink donuts that had sat in the sun for too long. 

She and her brother crack up bantering about the shape their bathroom used to be in. 

“You had to be careful if you might step a certain way, the wood was really fragile” — “There was a hole in it, you could probably look through it!” — “You could probably fall down deep down in there, that’s how old it was!” 

These two grew up in this neighborhood, at the shop that their parents owned. Both were helping around the store by the time they were 11 or 12, or playing video games with their neighborhood friends who would drop in. 

Kannyka and Victor’s dad and uncle originally ran a donut shop in the ‘80s called Bells Donuts at Sixth and Market. The 24-hour spot made “a lot of money” selling donuts downtown and delivering them around the city, but the Nhuls eventually closed as the area became too dangerous. 

By pooling their money and helping each other from the ground up, the Nhuls and their extended family have opened over 10 donut shops around Northern California. After Bells closed, Kannyka and Victor’s parents landed in the Mission more than 30 years ago. 

The siblings are glad to be back on their block, not just because they love what they do but also because this community keeps them grounded. While The Jelly Donut was closed, Victor worked at his uncle’s shop in Union City. Kannyka took care of her mother, who has health issues. 

Now, they’re finally back to their routine: Victor does the frying, which is usually the men’s job, Kannyka says, and she’s happy with the arrangement, because she prefers to work at the cash register, chatting with whoever comes in. 

“It’s like the barber shop, right? You know, you go there, you talk.” She knows some of her customers’ “whole life story,” and they have seen hers. Kannyka went to elementary, middle, and high school in the neighborhood, and she said some of her customers have also seen her at her worst. 

A few years ago, she had a different routine: “More than a couple of shots of Hennessy, and then work. I was depressed, I was going through a lot in my life. Like, I didn’t care,” Kannyka said. Sometimes she would black out from the alcohol and a customer would jump in to help her. 

The day we met, Kannyka was celebrating 44 months sober. Once upon a time, working at the donut shop was just a job she had to do to help her parents, but these days, she said, “I feel like I’m here for a reason.” She has more compassion and a stronger connection with her community nowadays, and hopes that she might inspire someone else who is struggling. 

Victor is also happy to be back at his home donut shop. “I get to put my spin on donuts and I get to be creative,” he said, although he still has to get the OK from his dad, who has an “old-school, traditional” view on donuts. “Last week I did a maple bacon donut; this week I want to do a peanut butter and jelly donut.”

Inspiration comes from all sorts of places. Many of Victor’s customers are stoners, he said, and they give him creative ideas to work with. His wife is Salvadoran-Mexican, and currently they’re working on a tres leches donut, based on her favorite dessert.  

Coming up, he’ll be making the donuts for a baby shower being thrown by his neighbor, who works at the Napper Tandy bar across the street. They’ve been friends for years: he’ll take over a box of donuts after work, and they’ll comp his drinks. 

Although the whole family now lives together in the East Bay, the Nhuls are still very much an established part of the Mission community, and the community is loyal to them. “People come from the Mission, Bayview, all over San Francisco, just for here,” Victor said. 

When the new building debuted with a fresh, deep-blue paint job, Victor laughed: “We’re one block away from 24th and Mission. I was like, ‘This is a predominantly Norteño neighborhood … do you guys even get the concept?’” 

The side of the building was immediately tagged with graffiti, but Victor said the people who did it thought the shop had been sold to new owners. They not only came to apologize, but even covered up the markings. 

As I wait in line for a donut, a customer tells Kannyka about the time when he had only $2 in his pocket, but Kannyka’s great aunt, Iv Ky, hooked him up with coffee and a donut anyway. Like many of The Jelly Donut’s regulars, he’s now been frequenting the shop for 12 years, because inside, they offer more than just donuts.