The best — and worst — of the Dunkin' menu, according to a food writer with opinions

Boston Globe

05-05-2025

Instead, I have a healthy relationship with Dunkin': My kids usually get it before skiing or on Sunday mornings while glued to their iPads, which is why I enlisted their help for this very important challenge.
Ground rules: I ordered from all corners of the menu, venturing beyond doughnuts. I visited my local brick-and-mortar branch for maximum offerings (Shout out to the lovely counter service at the Arlington Heights branch!).
Oh, and I did not rank drinks, because everyone knows that Dunkin' coffee is either life-giving nectar or sock-aroma swill, depending on your perspective and loyalties. And now, for the highly subjective rankings.
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THE BEST
A chocolate frosted donut.
From Dunkin'
The Classic Chocolates
Back in my day, DD served a perfect powdered doughnut piped with chocolate crème filling. This was sadly nowhere to be found on my recent visit. Happily, my two other favorites remain as good as ever: a simple chocolate-frosted doughnut, yeasty on the bottom and fudgy on the top, slathered generously with frosting; and the cakey chocolate glazed, with rivulets of crystallized sugar dripping from the edges. Both were fresh, plump, and exactly as I recalled them from ski lesson mornings at Nashoba Valley circa 1987.
Ham & Swiss Pretzel Sliders.
From Dunkin'
Ham & Swiss Pretzel Sliders
I was initially skeptical, but in the interest of journalism, I ordered Dunkin's new ham-and-cheese sandwich on King's Hawaiian pretzel sliders. Some might argue that DD should stick to Munchkins, but this admirable foray into sophisticated fare was surprisingly satisfying. The black forest ham was delicately folded atop the glossy amber pretzel buns like a meaty quilt; the Swiss and honey mustard infused a touch of tang. Did these transport me to Paris? No. Did they make me gag? Also no.
Hash Browns.
From Dunkin'
Hash Browns
A greasy bag of craggy tater-tot shaped spuds that cure the hangover you didn't even have: There's nothing not to love about these sumptuous sides. They are toasty, crispy, and deeply filling, with a crunch that legitimizes all your poor choices. My kids were ho-hum on them, but my kids have never tried to sop up four ill-advised margaritas at Border Cafe (yet).
Cotton Candy Specialty Donut.
From Dunkin'
Cotton Candy Specialty Donut
At first blush, I could conjure nothing sadder than nibbling a theme-park impulse purchase wedged inside a disk of dough. Silly me: Everyone in my family adored this special-edition doughnut, piped with blue cotton candy-flavored buttercream. Imagine a cloud of cake frosting, airy and pert. The strawberry icing provided a tart zing, and the blue sprinkles added textural intrigue and a dash of unicorn.
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THE WORST
Maple-Frosted Donut
These yeasty offerings are theoretically appealing: What possibly could be more New England than Dunkin' and maple? The problem is, this particular maple frosting tastes like a discontinued flavor of children's toothpaste. Nobody could take more than one cloying bite.
Jelly Donut
Artfully dusted with powder like a 1920s starlet, these doughnuts look lovely on the outside. The problem lurks within: Our particular batch was overloaded with a congealed substance that lacked fruit flavor . . . or any flavor, really. A disappointment.
Egg Sandwich.
From Dunkin'
Egg Sandwiches
I have tried these egg patties on English muffins, on a croissant, and on a bagel. No amount of carb camouflage can disguise the fact that they taste like an overused sponge: flaccid, waterlogged, slippery. To call these abominations 'sandwiches' is like calling the RMV a day spa.
In conclusion? Like a classic order of Munchkins, this was a mixed bag — and, still, I'm sure I'll return for more next weekend.
Kara Baskin can be reached at