Snackshots Providence: Off the Beaten Path

That’s right, we’re on the road again! This past weekend I hightailed it up to Providence, RI, to visit my college roommate Megan, who is currently attending Brown for grad school. Jacob split the cost of gas with me in order to visit his friend Sophie, a student at the Brown/Trinity Rep MFA program and see her in a show.

Shockingly, most of the trip was spent making home-cooked food, but I thought I’d share some roadtrip highlights and the culinary efforts of Megan’s cohort. I suppose the lesson to be learned from all of this is that regardless of the amount of restaurants or shops I go to, I still measure my life in terms of the edible punctuation that pepper my days.

I usually take the bus when traveling, but my parents were generous enough to let me borrow the car for this trip north. Halfway up our portion of 95, hunger pangs called, and seeking to avoid Denny’s or McDonalds, we stumbled upon a local gem in Westbrook, CT — Cristy’s Family Restaurant.

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Living in Manhattan, it’s easy to forget that these kinds of places exist — the simple, American diner-style fare, kept alive by a steady stream of regulars. The restaurant was unassuming, with a small cafe area out front (featuring a new espresso/coffee counter), and the bar and dining room  to the right, adorned with dark wood and red pleather booths.

Old-fashioned aesthetic with a classic menu to boot.

Old-fashioned aesthetic with a classic menu to boot.

The menu featured your usual diner fare, from all-day breakfast to deli sandwiches and entrees of the hearty American meatloaf genre. But it was clear that Cristy’s is proud of their pancake-skills, with a fully separate menu touting 40 different varieties. We half-heartedly made an attempt at a healthy dinner by splitting a mushroom, avocado and cheddar omelet, but Jacob and I quickly decided that we needed to check these legendary pancakes out. On the recommendation of our waitress we ordered the seasonal Pumpkin-Apple pancake and the Banana Crunch pancake.

Our hefty omelet, literally smothered in a slice of cheese.

Our hefty omelet, literally smothered in a slice of cheese.

Our omelet was fairly standard, if nothing revelatory. The truth is that I’ll eat mushrooms and avocado under most circumstances, so I was perfectly satisfied. The only thing that was strange was the extra slice of American cheese the cook placed on top of the omelet. The cheese wasn’t of good enough quality (yes, I’m a cheese snob) to add anything to the dish except textural density. There was already cheese inside of the omelet, so the extraneous slice ended up just weighing the fluffy eggs down.

The Pumpkin-Apple Pancake -- pumpkin batter with a molten apple core.

The Pumpkin-Apple Pancake — pumpkin batter with a molten apple core.

The Banana Crunch pancake dwarfed Jacob's fist.

The Banana Crunch pancake dwarfed Jacob’s fist.

But enough chit-chat — let’s talk pancakes. When our plates arrived it was clear that these were not your average short stack. These bad boys were massive, nearly the size of a dinner plate and generously coated with powdered sugar. I was surprised by the construction of the Pumpkin-Apple, which was composed of a pumpkin batter and sliced apple filling. When ordering I had pictured a traditional pancake speckled with apple chunks and pockets of pumpkin puree, but this pancake was surprisingly apple-forward. I found that the pumpkin was very mild, almost lost among the sweetness of the apple interior. Perhaps if pumpkin puree had been incorporated into the filling as well as in the batter, it would have been more noticeable. Not to say I didn’t enjoy the dish — both pancakes were expertly cooked, without any burnt or overly dry spots. Between the two, I preferred the Banana Crunch, which was filled with sliced bananas and a (shockingly) crunchy granola. I really liked the interaction between the brown sugar of the granola and the banana, even if I had to admit I was basically having bananas foster masquerading as a breakfast food.

All told, our bill came to less than $15, another eye-opening shocker for NYC natives, and another strong reason for my recommendation. If you’re traveling through Connecticut on I-95, I’d definitely suggest foregoing the endless Dunkin Donuts and instead taking a walk in some Westbrookian shoes at Cristy’s. The staff was friendly, the prices were stellar, and the pancakes were out of this world.

Eventually we made it up to Providence, and Saturday morning Megan took me over to one of her new favorite brunch spots, Olga’s Cup and Saucer.

Inside Olga's, which has a bakery/coffee bar area as well as indoor and outdoor dining.

Inside Olga’s, which has a bakery/coffee bar area as well as indoor and outdoor dining.

Olga’s was absolutely adorable, the kind of brightly painted and happily staffed coffee bar and restaurant that you know is going to make for a good brunch experience. It actually reminded me a lot of Macrina Bakery in Seattle, with slightly more emphasis on a full restaurant menu. The weather was surprisingly mild and dry for Providence in the fall, so we scored a seat on the outdoor patio. Following Megan’s lead, I opted for the Tostada (which was a layered take on Huevos Rancheros, as far I could tell).

The Tostada at Olga's Cup and Saucer, a layered breakfast lasagna of tortilla, salsa and beans.

The Tostada at Olga’s Cup and Saucer, a layered breakfast lasagna of tortilla, eggs, salsa and beans.

The Tostada was composed of eggs, stewed black beans, and fresh pico de gallo layered between toasted tortillas, and came with breakfast sweet and normal potatoes. I asked for my eggs to be cooked over easy, and they arrived with yolks still soft and loose, spilling out and intermingling with the beans and juices from the salsa. The Tostada had all of the Latin flavors I love in Huevos Rancheros, with crispness from the shredded lettuce and a sprinkling of cilantro. I was also impressed by the dish Megan’s friend David ordered — Poached Eggs on Homemade Scallion-Cheddar Scones. The “scones” were basically biscuits, and the small taste I had made me regret not snagging some of the baked goods on display near the front door of Olga’s.

Finally got to have my Baingan Bhartha, after trying a new eggplant curry at Tamarind.

Finally got to have my Baingan Bhartha, after trying a new eggplant curry at Tamarind.

Garlic-onion Naan -- deadly for your breath, delightful for your stomach.

Garlic-onion Naan — deadly for your breath, delightful for your stomach.

We spent most of the weekend shuttling from Megan’s apartment to her friends’ around the corner, who happen to live above an Indian restaurant called Taste of India. It didn’t take much effort to convince me to have Indian for dinner on Saturday night, and I finally got to have the Baingan Bhartha that I was craving during my dinner at Tamarind. The food was pretty tasty, although I’ll admit that I’ve been slightly ruined by the experience I had at Tamarind. I think it’ll be a few more regular Indian meals before I forget how wonderful the curries and lamb chops were. However, the proprietors of Taste of India score points for taking care of their tenants — we got free vegetable pakoras for being part of the in-crowd (aka, for Megan’s friends paying rent on time).

The reason we were so centrally located for the weekend (aside from the ease of geography), was because Megan’s friend Justin was celebrating his birthday. His girlfriend Lauren had organized a game night on Saturday and breakfast brunch the next day, so the remaining food adventures of my trip are based around Justin’s apartment. First off, Megan and I baked a red velvet cake for the game night. Back in our halcyon college days, Megan and I had attempted to make a red velvet cake, which ended up measuring only about an inch in height (though it did taste quite good). Thankfully, our baking skills have come a ways since then, and Justin’s cake was significantly more respectable in dimension.

The naked red velvet cake.

The naked red velvet cake.

Festively frosted for Justin.

Festively frosted for Justin.

Along with organizing and cooking most of brunch, Lauren had also bought a number of craft beers to accompany our vigorous board-gaming (ain’t no birthday like a board game birthday). First up was the Brooklyn Brewery Silver Anniversary Lager, celebrating the brewery’s 25 years in business. I’m usually somewhat lukewarm on Brooklyn Brewery, but I actually really enjoyed this lager. My beer palate is fairly inexperienced, but I tasted some citrus notes, some woodsy hoppiness, and a little toasted quality.

Brooklyn Brewery Silver Anniversary lager.

Brooklyn Brewery Silver Anniversary lager.

Brunch on Sunday was pretty impressive, incorporating lots of bacon, eggs, french toast (with a berry compote and creme fraiche), fruit salad and the obligatory mimosas.

Damn, Lauren, way to bring the brunch.

Damn, Lauren, way to bring the brunch.

I manned the french toast station and succeeded in not burning the challah to pieces, but Lauren’s egg-bake was pretty much the highlight the meal, featuring eggs, bacon, peppers, onions, and a whole mess of cheese. To top it all off, she even got all the brunchees to wear plaid shirts in Justin’s honor (aka to make fun of him for his mono-patterned wardrobe of plaid and jeans).  By the end of the weekend, I had come to the conclusion that Lauren needs to plan everyone’s birthdays. Or at least just mine. Clearly Megan’s friends know how to do birthdays right.

It was a great roadtrip, slightly more homestyle than I initially anticipated, but I actually appreciated the break from the NY food scene. It was nice to cook a meal with friends, to try some out of the way spots, and visit Megan’s favorite local restaurants. I spend so much time running around New York trying to check off items on my endless lists, I found it really refreshing to have the sort of wake up call that there is some stellar food happening outside the Five Boroughs, from roadside diners to personal kitchens. It makes me want to bust out a map and take this show on the road on a national eating tour, but until I have the time and the money for that, I guess I’ll concentrate on the northern third of the I-95 corridor. After all, Jacob hasn’t been to Friendly’s yet, and what kind of sad excuse of a life is one without the beauty of Fribbles?

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Brief Bites: Bantam Bagels

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I’ll just come out and say it: I’m a bagel snob. I don’t think I ate a Thomas’ Bagel until I was in college, and was stunned at the measly, barely-risen dough that sat comfortably in the palm of my hand. Where were the yeasty, chewy hulks of carbohydrates of my youth? The lump of cinnamon raisin dough with a solid schmear of cream cheese my father had so lovingly quartered and wrapped up for my lunches? Those staples of the kiddush luncheons after Sunday school, mini bagels piled high and awaiting the tiny, grape juice-stained hands of ravenous pre-bar-mitzvot?

What I’m saying is, I’ve got high standards when it comes to bagels. However, as explored before, I have a serious weakness for food innovation, especially those involving miniaturization and fusion. So when I read that the folks at Bantam Bagels were taking the jelly-filled munchkin approach to bagel dough, I knew I’d have to check them out in person.

The Set Up:

Bantam Bagels is a relative newcomer to the single-dish segment of the New York food scene (this is the city, after all, that has stores solely dedicated to Rice Krispy treats, meatballs, mac & cheese, and rice pudding). The shop is located on Bleecker Street, just down the block from Murray’s Cheese Bar, and the similarly unilaterally-focused Risotteria. It’s an area that has always brimmed with restaurant and bar options, but as of late seems to be undergoing a bit of a real estate revival, with Bantam, London Candy Company, and Sugar and Plumm all opening within a few weeks of each other. It’s understandable, given all the foot traffic that moves through there, from tourists checking out the Greenwich/West Village neighborhoods to students and NY natives popping into venues like the Peculier Pub or Le Poisson Rouge for shows and specials.

Considering their petite product, perhaps the store is actually appropriately sized.

Considering their petite product, perhaps the store is actually appropriately sized.

However, access to such prime levels of foot traffic may come at a cost. Unlike the relatively luxurious cafe space of Wafels & Dinges, Bantam Bagels is a purely take-away operation, the retail area of the shop barely holding the small line of people in front of us as we entered. Peering back beyond the counter, it’s clear that the bulk of the space is taken up by the kitchen, with room up front for only a small cooler for drinks, shelves for display bantams, and a counter by the window if you want to eat standing inside. The small shop is decked out in the red and black motif of the Bantam Bagels logo, the only real decoration coming from the branded merchandise placed high above the server on the right hand side of the store. Bantam’s only a few weeks old, having opened in early September, so they may still be developing their aesthetic beyond their menu items.

The Bites:

What Bantam lacks in space, it makes up for in variety -- myriad mini bagel balls on display.

What Bantam lacks in space, it makes up for in variety — myriad mini bagel balls on display.

The idea behind Bantam Bagels is to miniaturize and invert the traditional bagel-spread structure. As donut holes are to the donut, bantams are to the classical bagel. The balls are made of different types of dough and stuffed with a variety of corresponding fillings, from the familiar Plain Bantam (“plain bagel filled with plain cream cheese, butter, or peanut butter”) to the more experimental Summerberry Shortcake (“freshly picked blueberry bagel filled with sweet strawberry cream cheese”). A single bantam  will run you $1.35, but it’s a better deal to sample a variety of flavors by getting one of the exponentially larger orders of 3, 6, or 12 (they go up to an order of 40 bantams before you get into catering territory, but small as they are, even a diehard bagel-eater might struggle to house 40 of these guys).

Even more flavors -- bit of a bagel bonanza!

Even more flavors — just imagine taking 40 of these bad boys down.

Laura was gracious enough to be my intrepid companion for the day, so we decided to split an order of 12, attempting to run the gamut of savory and sweet. We ended up ordering the “Bantam of the Month,” which for September was The Bleecker Street, as well as the Everything Bantam, the Grandma Jojo, the Hot Pretzel, the French Toast, and the Boxed Lunch.

Our order neatly packaged and ready to be torn into.

Our order, neatly packaged and ready to be torn into.

As an evolution of the medium, Bantam Bagels does succeed in evoking the texture of a classic NY bagel. The small size (roughly the same as Dunkin Donuts munchkin) allows for even baking, creating a crisp crust that gives way to the chewy dough center. Although both Laura and I had expected the bantams to be slightly larger, closer to the Doughseed at Doughnut Plant, we agreed that the proportion of dough to filling was perfect, preventing the unfortunate cream-cheese with a side of bagel over-schmearing you occasionally receive from unmotivated deli staff. I would say the bantams are optimally two-bite treats, in order to properly savor the interplay of filling and dough.

As we paid for our box, the cashier cautioned that we should bite into the bantam at the spot where the small dollop of filling pokes through, so as to prevent the ball from collapsing and spilling filling all over you. Laura and I managed to get through our order without any major spread situations, however, the Bantam employee neglected to mention the danger of the powdered sugar on the French Toast bantam, which ended up coating every piece of our clothing that it touched.

Breakdown by bantam -- duos starting from top left: Everything, Boxed Lunch, French Toast, Grandma Jojo, Hot Pretzel, and the Bleecker Street.

Breakdown by bantam — duos starting from top left: Everything, Boxed Lunch, French Toast, Grandma Jojo, Hot Pretzel, and the Bleecker Street.

Speaking of which, let’s dive into our Bantam selection. The French Toast (“cinnamon-nutmeg egg bagel filled with buttery maple syrup cream cheese”) was overpowered by the sweetness of the spread and the large amount of powdered sugar. The spices of the bagel dough were lost amongst the stronger flavors of the filling, and both Laura and I agreed it lacked the eggy-moistness that typifies real french toast.

The Everything Bantam (“everything bagel filled with plain cream cheese”) was solid, if predictable. If you’re unsure of Bantam’s take on the bagel physiognomy, try this out to get a good sense of the spread-to-bagel proportions. Bantam has a good, springy dough, a well-measured portion of spices to evoke the “everything bagel” taste, and your familiar type of Philadelphia cream cheese.

As a hardcore fan of both peanut butter and jam-filled things, Laura had been very excited to get the Boxed Lunch (“plain bagel topped with crushed, roasted peanuts and filled with peanut butter and sweet strawberry jam”). I was also very intrigued by this particular bantam, since it veered the closest to dessert of our order. Unfortunately, the reality of the Boxed Lunch could not meet our lofty expectations. The peanut topping didn’t provide much of a textural contrast, and like the French Toast bantam, the plain bagel exterior was no match for the sugary insides. Laura and I felt like we’d just be better off getting a plain PB&J on sliced bread, since the bagel aspect added no real discernible advantage.

Ultimately, both Laura and I agreed that the more savory bantams were more successful. We appreciated the simplicity of the Hot Pretzel (“pretzel bagel topped with sea salt crystals, filled with dijon and sharp cheddar cream cheese”), which nailed the snappy outer layer of a soft pretzel and had a filling that reminded me of the beer cheese dip that accompanied our monster pretzel at Reichenbach. The Bleecker Street (“pizza dough bagel topped with a thin slice of pepperoni and filled with marinara mozzarella cream cheese”) was a little more divisive, although the issue was more with my personal dislike of pepperoni than the bantam’s flavor profile.

I can’t say I tasted much of a difference in the bagel dough between the Bleecker and the Grandma Jojo (“Italian spiced bagel topped with a thinly sliced, marinated tomato and filled with fresh basil pesto cream cheese”), but the pesto-tomato combination made this bantam the winner of the bunch. Both the Bleecker and the Grandma Jojo summoned up some solid nostalgic longings for pizza bagels, and stood apart from their bagel roots in the best way. Their fillings had the base richness of cream cheese that was subtly highlighted by herbs and spices, and worked harmoniously alongside the dough and toppings.

The Last Licks:

While Laura and I were a bit disappointed with the sweeter half of our Bantam Bagels order, overall I think the concept has some merit. It really depends on your expectations going in — if you’re looking to experiment and try some wacky takes on bagel flavor combinations, be bold and go for the oddball bantams like the olive-and-feta infused Athena or the Cookies and Milk. It was fun to take a leap, and I thought the bantams stretching furthest from the flavor norm were the most memorable. I’m hoping that they’ll continue to explore some of the more exotic culinary strains — I’ll come back to Bantam if they go into Indian or East Asian territories, or maybe some south of the border flair. For the moment, however, I think I’ll stick to buying full-size bagels at my usual bakery. Bantam Bagels should be commended for finding a way to make a NY mainstay into something new, but for this native they need to push the envelope more to move from a novelty to a necessity.

Bantam Bagels

283 Bleecker Street (between Jones St and 7th Ave South)

http://www.bantambagels.com

Snackshots Seattle, Part 1: A Fresh Food Fantasy at Pike Place Market

For someone who makes her bread and butter (or rather, is able to buy her bread and butter) from the entertainment industry, I’ve spent surprisingly little time on the West Coast. I’ve only been to California a handful of times, and never visited any of the other states west of Iowa. That is, until this past weekend, when I had the chance to visit my brother in his new digs in Seattle. As with many of my interests, my older brother Dan was a major influence on my passion for food. Up until June he lived on the UES near me (in fact, in the same apartment building, because we’re too cute like that), and one of my favorite parts of getting to know the neighborhood was exploring new restaurants and bars with him. So when I hopped on a plane on Friday to visit the Northwest for the first time, I believed my expectations of delicious overindulgence were reasonable. Little did I realize I was seriously underestimating our genetic predisposition for pie-hole stuffing. Suffice it to say that I have way more to talk about than can reasonably fit in one post. So, much like my last travel experience in Israel, I’m going to break up my trip into more manageable bites. First up, a look at Seattle’s iconic Pike Place Market.

Walking up to one of the many entrances of Pike Place Market.

Walking up to one of the many entrances of Pike Place Market. This place is just enormous.

 

Beyond the amazing food I encountered at Pike Place, what struck me most was the easy comingling of obvious tourists (like myself) and the local crowd. Sure, there are kitschy shops peddling t-shirts and trinkets, but much of Pike Place Market is made up of serious local vendors selling fresh produce and homemade items. I kept describing it to Dan as a strange mix of NY’s Chelsea Market and Philadelphia’s Reading Terminal Market, somewhere between the higher-brow artisanal wares of Chelsea’s Ronnybrook Dairy and Eleni’s Cookies and the Amish shoo-fly pies and cheesesteaks down Liberty Bell way. And did I mention it’s huge? A sprawling, multi-floor, multi-block, and multi-street, partially open air market, with arms that snake out leading you down paths of flower and jerky vendors, or spice stalls and coffee sellers. Dan and I must have spent a good 3 hours there and never really explored anything beyond the ground level.

Pike Place Fish Market, already crowded with tourists eager to see some serious fish-tossing.

Pike Place Fish Market, already crowded with tourists eager to see some serious fish-tossing.

Soon after we entered we came upon the famous Pike Place Fish Market. The Fish Market is known for its tradition of throwing whole fish that customers have purchased from the back storage area to the fishmongers working the counter. An order will be yelled out — “Alaskan Salmon!” — and lightning quick a freaking whole carcass is tossed carefree up from the floor to the raised platform, where the fish are then butchered and wrapped. Tourists crowded around the stall to watch the performance, but after the first throw I turned my attention to the table across the way, which was laden down with all different types of dried fruit and vegetables. Dan got some fabulously sticky and sweet dried pineapple, but I was feeling more adventurous, and asked the woman behind the counter for something “good, but weird.”

My bag of dried okra, which at first glance looks a bit like dead grasshoppers. Yummier than appearance, I promise.

My bag of dried okra, which at first glance looks a bit like dead grasshoppers. Yummier than appearance, I promise.

She passed me a piece of dried okra, a vegetable I’m usually pretty ambivalent about. It was crunchy and salty, with a underlying freshness and a texture that reminded me of the dried greenbeans I’ve had from Fairway. I immediately bought a bag, completely enamored with this strange vegetable creation that was unlike anything I’d ever tried before. Why can’t you buy dried okra everywhere?

An ungodly amount of life-changing Rainier Cherries.

An ungodly amount of life-changing Rainier cherries.

 

I had a similar eye-opening experience when I tried Rainier cherries for the first time. I’ve always shied away from cherries, finding their tartness too aggressive. I also tend to dislike cooked fruit in desserts, so cherry pie or even the classic Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia aren’t really in my wheelhouse. But as we made our way through the market, an eager fruit vendor handing out slices of peach cut fresh from the fruit caught my eye, and I made my way over to him (hey, I’m never one to turn down a free sample). I can say without any doubt in my mind that that was the best peach I’ve ever tasted. It was luscious, velvety in texture, juicy and tender and exploding with natural sweetness. When I told this to the vendor, he insisted I try the Rainier cherries, proclamining them to be just as fresh as the peaches. And dagnabit, this guy was on the money. I found myself comparing the Rainier cherries to fresh grapes, with a soft and creamy flesh and a mild sweetness that was simply addictive. Dan bought a bag and we finished that day (even in the face of all of the other food we managed to fit in our stomachs).

The unfortunately lukewarm Plain Jane at Cinnamon Works.

The unfortunately lukewarm Plain Jane at Cinnamon Works.

 

After strolling through most of the top floor of the market, we made our way across the street to Post Alley, where most of the Market’s restaurants and shops can be found. Our attempt to go to Pike Place Chowder was thwarted by the outrageous line, so I guess I’ll just have to leave that for my next visit. We did manage to try a Plain Jane Cinnamon Roll at Cinnamon Works, a bakery that specializes in the cinnamon pastry diaspora (aka pull-apart bread, sticky buns, honey buns, etc). The Plain Jane had excellent flavors, but it was disappointingly room temperature, and you never want to eat an under-warmed cinnamon roll — it highlights the chewy, unforgiving nature of the batter. Next time I’m going to specifiy a fresh roll, or a reheated one.

The menu at the original Beecher's Handmade Cheese.

The menu at the original Beecher’s Handmade Cheese.

 

More importantly, I also paid a visit to the original location of Beecher’s Handmade Cheese, so I could finally make a proper comparison to my lovely meal at Beecher’s NYC. The original Beecher’s location is significantly smaller than it’s NY outpost — most of the space is devoted to the actual production of cheese, which I suppose is getting your priorities straight. The retail area is dominated by the cheese counter and cafe menu prep stations — no restaurant/lounge here, just sandwiches, soups, and cheesy breadsticks. You can still peer down into the cheesemaking arena at the Original Beecher’s, but this time from milk-can stools at the cafe’s narrow ledge, the only area to eat their wares. After sampling Beecher’s signature crackers and cheeses, Dan and I decided to split the Flagship Sandwich, a caprese-style grilled cheese featuring Beecher’s Flagship cheddar, their Just Jack, the “Beecher’s spread” and tomato and basil.

Cheesemaking in action at Beecher's.

Cheesemaking in action at Beecher’s.

Our Flagship Sandwich -- look at that gooey cheese resisting separation.

Our Flagship Sandwich — look at that gooey cheese resisting separation.

 

I usually like my grilled cheese unadulterated, but the density and richness of the two cheddars was mitigated by the sharp savory basil taste and the moist tomato. The “Beecher’s spread,” mysterious and left unexplained, seemed to add a subtle bite of mustard. Thick white bread helped to hold the sandwich together, and was toasted to perfect golden-brown. Overall, the quality of cheese and food in general at the original Beecher’s was still stellar, but the creativity and diversity of choices on the menu at the NY outpost make me happy I live nearer to the East Coast option. Dammit, now I want that mushroom tart again.

The small sign announcing the entrance to the Crumpet Shop, tucked away from the noise of Post Alley.

The small sign announcing the entrance to the Crumpet Shop, tucked away from the noise of Post Alley.

 

Another shop of note is the Crumpet Shop, a small cafe hidden away upstairs in one of the buildings on Post Alley. Their menu is limited to three categories: the titular crumpets, scones, and looseleaf teas. However, there are seemingly endless variations within those sections, including both savory and sweet options. In all of my UK adventures, I’d actually never tried a crumpet before, due to my enduring love of a proper scone and my general ambivalence towards the crumpet’s North American cousin, the English Muffin. For those who have yet to encounter a crumpet, they’re traditional English griddle cakes, slightly crumbly and usually served warm with butter, jam or some other type of spread. Although I was tempted by The Crumpet Shop’s scones, I felt I should give the cafe’s namesake its due. Also, Dan was intent on having a crumpet, and at that point I had tried so many other treats that I couldn’t imagine having another pastry all to myself (well, that’s a bit of a lie … more on that in a bit).

On line for some serious crumpet action.

On line for some serious crumpet action.

The shop itself is charming, and I would recommend a stop in, especially if you don’t feel like dealing with all of the crowds of Pike Place Market proper. The entrance features the counter/kitchen where you place your order, plus bar seating along the wall. A small collection of tables are located just past the counter and down a few steps, where you can cool your heels for a bit and take a gander at the whimsical artwork and Alice in Wonderland murals that line the walls.

Our toasted crumpet, piled high with preserves.

Our toasted crumpet, piled high with preserves.

Dan and I split a crumpet with fresh raspberry preserves, very lightly toasted so that it was not quite browned, but still warm enough to gently melt the preserves into a luscious goo. Ultimately, I think I’m more of a clotted cream and scone gal — the texture of the crumpet and its straightforward yeasty flavor were fine, but far from revelatory. The most memorable part of the dish was the raspberry preserves, which were unbelievably fresh and pure in their flavor. I’m sure I’ll be repeating myself endlessly about this, but I was completely blown away by the quality of the basic ingredients of my Seattle meals. From fruits to vegetables to seafood, everything seemed like it had been hand-picked just for me.

The Donut Robot Mark II, hard at work.

The Donut Robot Mark II, hard at work.

 

I started out this post by talking about my exuberance over dried okra, so it seems only fitting to bookend the discussion by jumping to the other end of the spectrum — doughnuts. Dan was insistent that we pay a visit to the Daily Dozen Doughnut Co., a small counter not too far from the Pike Place Fish Market stall. We had actually passed by it when we first entered the market, but the line was absurdly long, so DDDC ended up being our last stop of the day. DDDC does one thing, and one thing only — make piping hot mini doughnuts to destroy your arteries and blow your mind. (They also sell espresso and coffee, because what else are you going to have with your doughnuts? Milk? What are you, a weirdo?) DDDC is a ridiculously small operation, considering the sheer quantity of mini-dos they churn out each day. With a small area in the back for prepping the batter and decorating the finished donuts, DDDC’s main attraction is the “Donut Robot, Mark II” a miracle of modern technology that squirts out two perfectly formed mini doughnut rings into a roiling river of oil. The rings of batter then travel along a conveyor belt, frying for the precisely the right amount of time before being slid out of the machine and onto the continuously growing pile of puffed perfection.

Henry Ford could never have imagined the gift he would give dessert lovers everywhere with his assembly line method.

Henry Ford could never have imagined the gift he would give dessert lovers everywhere with his assembly line method.

 

These bad boys, roughly the size of Entenmann’s mini powdered donuts, are only sold in multiples of 6, with any collection of toppings you desire. Aside from plain and powdered, you can also get chocolate frosted (with sprinkles), along with whatever special toppings they have for the day. We chose two plain, two cinnamon-dusted, and two coated in a maple glaze. I hate to veer into hyperbole, but these were actually the best donuts I’ve ever had, simply because they were the freshest, and the batter had such a pure sweet taste to it. Like the best version of funnel cake, with the right amount of crispness to the outside, while steamy, light and airy inside. The bag was still warm as I grabbed it, yet not a spot of grease transferred from the bottom to my hands. My favorite was the cinnamon sugar donut, the uniform coating achieved by the seller drops the donuts in a bag, tosses in some cinnamon sugar, and shakes. No fancy schmancy toppings or fillings, just old-fashioned, well-made, fresh from the fryer donuts. To be honest, you really can’t compare Daily Dozen Doughnut Co. to the Doughnut Plant — it’s like trying to compare a homemade brownie to a chocolate ganache cake from a high-end bakery. These establishments have two different goals. But if I grew in Seattle, I would have begged my parents to take me here on the weekends, and thoroughly thumbed my nose at the barely heatlamp-warmed measly offerings at Dunkin Donuts.

 

Pike Place Market is the closest to Jerusalem’s Mahane Yehuda Market that I’ve found in the US. The mix of high-and-low-end vendors, the obvious plays towards tourist wallets combined with neighborhood shopping, and the unabashed delight in all that the local producers have to offer struck me as hewing closer to the Israeli model than Big Box Americana. Of course, it would be silly to ignore the fact that there is a Target just around the corner from Pike Place, and that the very first Starbucks (now a bonafide  international behemoth) is just down the row from Beecher’s. But my visit to Pike Place Market seemed to underscore the overall impression of Seattle. I felt like this is a city with a lot of pride, both in the larger sense of the Seattle itself, and the microcosms of each neighborhood. Fortunately, that pride is combined with a distinctly laidback, unself-conscious attitude. For me, that meant meeting a lot of people who wanted to share what they thought makes Seattle special, or what they themselves added to the culture, from hand crafted piggy banks to badass spice blends. So next time you’re in Seattle, pay a visit to Pike Place Market. Don’t worry that you’re buying into the tourist to-do list — there are so many layers to this locally-sourced onion, you can easily make your trip truly unique. I know I’ll be back — if only to finally get my hands on a bowl of that famous Pike Place Chowder!

The loosest definition of trail mix I've ever seen. Yes, that is a pile of meat and cheese.

The loosest definition of trail mix I’ve ever seen. Yes, that is a pile of meat and cheese.

Pike Place Market

1916 Pike Pl,

Seattle, WA 98101

pikeplacemarket.org

 

The District: Brunch Just Down the Block

2013-06-30 12.12.15

In the nearly three years since I moved to the Upper East Side, I’ve watched the neighborhood slowly evolve, accumulating more and more interesting stores and restaurants beyond the ubitquitous nail salons and dry cleaners. It seems as though the scourge of the 2nd Avenue Subway is finally loosening its grip on the area, and at last some intrepid entrepeneurs are testing the waters. In the past year alone I’ve seen new bars and lounges, coffeeshops, and even a spin studio open up in the ten blocks below my building. It’s the kind of gentrification I can support, because for the most part these new business are not run by mega-corporations. For every new Dunkin Donuts that grabs a corner, there are the guys behind Earl’s Beer and Cheese, who are slowly building a mini-empire on the stretch of Park between 97th and 98th (a cocktail lounge, a beer bar, a wine bar, and their latest endeavor — a donut shop: http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/coreycova/dough-loco). Although I’m trying to see more of the city these days (and let’s be honest, eat more of the city these days), it’s nice to have a neighborhood you want to come back to. Some weekends, you just want a local spot to grab a solid brunch. This past Sunday I ventured into one of the newer pubs, The District, to see if it could fill that role.

First Impressions:

2013-06-30 12.12.23

The District opened up shortly after I started this blog (in fact, I mentioned the construction on it in my second post, about my anticipation regarding Brick Lane Curry). Located on the corner of 94th and Third Ave, The District took over a space that formerly housed an Indian restaurant, and completely revamped it. Gone were the pink walls and floral murals, replaced with steam-punk-esque battered steel ceilings, antique filament bulbs, and a brick and steel facade that suggested upscale neighborhood bar. Inside the space is bright and inviting — the front of the pub is all windows, which are frequently opened up on hot summer nights.

The vaguely steam-punk interior of The District, with antique-looking lightbulbs strung across the ceiling.

The vaguely steam-punk interior of The District, with antique-looking lightbulbs strung across the ceiling. Note the dichotomy of the stained glass window and the flatscreen TVs.

A long bar lines the left side of the pub, with an impressive number of taps, including my all-time favorite beer, Delirium Tremens. Dark wood tables fill the rest of the space, with some raised seating near the front, and a red banquet lining the back corner. There’s a bit of a strange dischordance between the vaguely Gothic (or at least Victorian) liquor cabinets behind the bar and stained glass window at the rear, and the numerous TVs tuned to ESPN or NBC Sports. But if you can look past the anachronistic bent, the space is quite charming, if a little loud. That’s sort of a given when it comes to bars, and I’d rather have a place be busy the first time I visit — it’s a good indication that they’re not about to serve you a mediocre meal.

The Food:

Brunch at The District comes with a complimentary Mimosa or Bloody Mary. While I went with my daydrinking bubbly mainstay, my parents both ordered a Bloody Mary, and remarked on the freshness and real bite from the horseradish. My mimosa was perfectly fine, but I generally don’t expect great things from that libation unless we’re talking Dom Perignon and freshly-squeezed orange pulp. For a free drink, I was more than happy with a little spiked Tropicana to start my day.

The District’s menu has a nice ratio of breakfast to lunch options, ranging from the standard Eggs Benedict, yogurt and granola, and french toast morning foodstuffs, to the heavier District Burger (a brisket blend I’m looking forward to trying someday soon) and a variety of salads. With the exception of the Steak and Eggs, none of the dishes top $14, making The District surprisingly affordable given the catalogue of possible entrees.

Ultimately, my parents and I settled on the breakfast side of things. My father selected the Corned Beef Hash, my mother chose Eggs Florentine, and I went with the Egg in Bread, which our waiter informed us was the chef’s specialty.

The only downside to our experience was that although the service up until our food arrived was polite and timely, unfortunately after being served it fell off a bit. Our waiter did check in with us mid-meal, but water refills were somewhat few and far between, and while I was offered a refill on my coffee, my parents were never asked if they would like to order something other than their cocktails.

Where the service, excelled, however, was in the kitchen. Our dishes were delivered much faster than I expected, the staff nearly sprinting up the stairs to lay the hot plates on our table.

 

The Corned Beef and Hash -- potato on potato action.

The Corned Beef and Hash — potato on potato action.

The Corned Beef Hash is described as “house made hash served with 2 eggs any style, fresh parsley and Spanish Onion.” My father ordered his eggs poached, but as shown above, the eggs ended looking more on the sunny-side. He took this in stride, however, since it still provided him with the runny yolk to blend into the hash. He got a double dose of potatoes in this dish, both within the hash and with breakfast taters on the side, plus a couple pieces of toast to boot. Although he commented that the hash was a bit untraditional and on the drier side, he finished off his plate. I’ve never been much for corned beef in general, so I can’t really speak to its authenticity, but the bite I tried had a nice amount of peppery punch to it.

Eggs Florentine, delicately coated in Hollandaise sauce.

Eggs Florentine, delicately coated in Hollandaise sauce.

 

My mother also seemed perfectly happy with her Eggs Florentine (“poached eggs, sauteed spinach served on a toasted English muffin & topped with house made Hollandaise sauce”). I tried a small bite, but I generally find Hollandaise sauce a bit too rich for my palate as my first meal of the day. The eggs seemed to be nicely poached, firm little ovals revealing an oozing core to soak into the English Muffin. Vegetable lover (slash loser) that I am, my favorite part was the spinach, which was tender and still had that fresh-tasting bitterness to contrast with the fatty sauce and egg combo.

While she enjoyed her eggs, my mother seemed disappointed by the breakfast potatoes. Now, I am an equal-opportunity potato consumer, so I was plenty happy to scarf down the small hunks of starch. But I did agree they could have done with a bit more seasoning — the potatoes were tossed with salt and slivers of parsley, but could have really benefited from some pepper or even some rosemary. My mother also theorized that this cubed style of breakfast potatoes would have been better served by a using a smaller potato, like a fingerling or a red potato. She thought the chopped Russet variety worked better in the smashed/scattered hash-brown style of the Waffle House.

The Egg in Bread -- the chef's speciality, and my delicious introduction to eggy-in-a-basket.

The Egg in Bread — the chef’s speciality, and my delicious introduction to eggy-in-a-basket.

I have an unreasonable amount of self-satisfaction when I order what turns out to be my favorite dish of the meal. I’d wanted to try egg-in-bread since I saw it in one of the greatest breakfast scenes in film, in V for Vendetta (which happens to be a fantastic adaptation — yes, in addition to my nerdy food and fencing interests, I also read comic books. You can imagine how full my dance card was during high school). Also called eggy-in-a-basket, one-eyed jack, hen-in-a-nest, and a whole host of other names, the dish usually involves cutting a hole in a piece of bread, and then frying an egg inside it. However, The District uses a different technique for their version — they baste their eggs. A quick Googling revealed that basting an egg is achieved one of two ways: Much like basting a turkey, you can cook the egg in fat (butter, oil, what have you), then spoon a bit of that fat over the top of the egg. This produces a sunnyside-up egg on the bottom, but with a slightly firmer top. The other option is to put a lid on the pan as you cook the eggs, so the steam produced helps to “baste” them (http://www.organicauthority.com/foodie-buzz/what-are-basted-eggs.html). The eggs in my dish were the perfect consistency for my tastes, so I’m definitely interested in attempting some “basting” at home.

The plate arrived laden with two thick slabs of brioche, toasted to just golden-brown, so the outer crust gave way to soft dough on the inside. Served with potatoes and a bit of maple syrup, the Egg in Bread left me with the impression of a deconstructed French Toast. The brioche had a natural buttery sweetness that was emphasized by the addition of the maple syrup, and unsurprisingly the broken yolk seeping into the bread helped to bring out that creamy richness of classic French Toast. If they had dusted the whole thing in cinnamon-sugar, it would have brought me right back to my dad cooking breakfast on Sunday mornings. It’s hard for me to comment on the change in egg-cooking method, having never tried the traditional version of fried-egg-in-a-basket, but I think the basting technique worked to make the dish more delicate and subtle. It kept both the egg and the bread from forming too thick a toasted crust on the outside, and helps all the elements to meld together better, almost as if you were eating a wonderful poached egg sandwich (actually, that sounds kinda gross. Maybe a poached egg bread pudding?). Regardless, I devoured the dish, and will happily seek out new variations in my future brunches.


Final Thoughts:
All in all, The District is a great neighborhood spot offering a brunch deal for almost anybody. It’s not going to redefine your definition of brunch, but that’s not really their aim. Whether you’re looking for a sandwich, a salad, vegetarian offerings, or a  dish to put your cholesterol to shame, you can find it here, plus they’ll thrown in a cocktail on the house. No, you won’t find the kind of decadence seen in the $1000 lobster caviar omelet from Norma’s, but you will get a few creative tweaks on American and British staples, like a Smoked Salmon Pretzel, or a Nine-Grain Porridge. For those of us on the UES, it’s just nice to find a place comfortably between the 24/7 diner and the upper crust steakhouse. The District strikes that balance — with a little bit of flair, a great beer selection, and hopefully, an indication of the type of establishments to come.

The District

Corner of 94th St. and 3rd Ave

thedistrictbarnyc.com

Doughn’t Let the Name Fool You: Far from the Assembly Line at Doughnut Plant

After my recent post about Cronuts and croissants, it seems only fitting that I complete the set with a look at a doughnut shop. I’ve never really felt the urge to explore the doughnut options in New York — to be honest, doughnuts fall pretty low on my list of desired desserts. It’s probably due to my limited exposure growing up, where my doughnut encounters consisted of rec soccer game boxes of Dunkin Donuts’ Munchkins, Entenmann’s Pop ‘Ems, and the occasional cider doughnut on apple picking trips. My Californian friends tell me that doughnuts are a whole different story on the West Coast, and perhaps if I had grown up there, I would have at least had more of an appreciation for a solid deep-fried delicacy. But with the nearest Krispy Kreme location states away, I puttered along in ignorance. Believe me, I was perfectly happy taking those Pop ‘Ems down when the opportunity arose, but no doughnut had ever truly made me think twice about what I was biting into.

My first glimpse into the larger doughnut universe came during my first year working in New York. A coworker was gifted with a large box from Doughnut Plant, a decadent doughnuttery on the LES. He was generous enough to share his goodies with the office, and in doing so, unintentionally opened up a personal Pandora’s Box of possibilities for me. There was nary an oozing Boston Creme Pie or half-glazed cruller to be seen. Instead, square and round yeast and cake donuts with exotic flavors like Lavender, Blackberry, and Pistachio were laid out in neat rows before me,  and as I bit into a coconut cream doughnut, I suddenly found myself fervently wishing they would open up a shop closer to the office.

Well, owner Mark Israel must have somehow heard my prayer, because less than a year later Doughnut Plant opened up a second location nearby in the Chelsea Hotel. But hopeless fool that I am, it took two years and a different job in a different state for me to finally pay a visit to the actual bakery. This weekend I finally made good on that promise to myself, braving the heat (on a day that just demanded ice cream — but goddammit, I was doughnut-bound and determined) and finally finding my way inside this New York doughnutopia.

First Impressions:

Doughnut Plant has a pretty extensive history for a New York bakery. This is not some flash-in-the-pan out-of-town whippersnapper trying to stake a claim on the dessert scene. Mark Israel has a family history steeped in baking prowess, and the origin of Doughnut Plant’s menu stems from his grandfather’s doughnut recipe. According to their website, Doughnut Plant has existed since 1994, first as a bicycle-powered delivery service that catered to such clients as Dean & Deluca and Balducci’s.  The original standalone LES location opened up in 2000, and besides the Chelsea shop, there are nine Doughnut Plants in Japan and one in South Korea.

The entrance to the Chelsea Hotel Doughnut Plant, unfortunately hidden by construction.

The entrance to the Chelsea Hotel Doughnut Plant, unfortunately hidden by construction.

While the entrance to the shop is pretty obscured from the street by scaffolding, once you’re actually standing in front of the doors, it’s hard to resist the allure of the Chelsea Doughnut Plant. The decor suggests a tongue-in-cheek play on the bakery’s name, featuring the industrial wrought iron and steel bars of a manufacturing plant, contrasted with brightly colored doughnut-themed decorations along the walls. Walking in, you’re faced with a visual dichotomy — on the right side is the counter, all metal and dark colors and serious business, while on the left there are tables and chairs made of lighter wood, fanciful decorated doughnut pillows on the wall, and even benches along the wall have a doughnut design on them. It’s Henry Ford meets Willy Wonka. I find the balance of whimsy and serious craftsmanship immensely appealing — just like Beecher’s, I really appreciate a place that recognizes how food can (and should) make people happy, whether you’re cooking it or consuming it.

The barred service area -- these doughnuts mean business.

The barred service area — these doughnuts mean business.

In an ideal world, these doughnuts pillows would be edible, or at least scraff and sniff.

In an ideal world, these doughnuts pillows would be edible, or at least scratch-and-sniff.

The Food:

I mean, seriously, how do you choose?

I mean, seriously, how do you choose?

Doughnut Plant has a rotating selection of doughnuts, based both on seasonal and daily specials. The variety is almost overwhelming, and I found myself struggling to pick a few flavors to try. Luckily I wasn’t eating alone — you guessed it, Jacob was along for the ride, or rather, driving the car, since he was the one really keen to check out Doughnut Plant in the first place.

There are ostensibly four options at DP — cake doughnuts, yeast doughnuts, filled yeast doughnuts, and mini-filled doughnuts, called “doughseeds” (aka DP’s version of a Munchkin). However, this overlooks the monstrous cinnamon bun (which looked outrageously tempting and diabetic-coma-inducing), as well as the churros. But this was not the time for such distractions — we were there for doughnuts, and doughnuts alone. After a difficult deliberation (chocolate hazelnut? blueberry? chocolate chip?), we settled on the Tres Leches cake doughnut, the Valrhona Chocolate yeast donut, and the Peanut Butter and Blackberry Jam doughseed. Good thing I had a salad for lunch.

The Peanut Butter and Blackberry Jam Doughseed -- great for jam lovers, but not salty enough.

The Peanut Butter and Blackberry Jam Doughseed — great for jam lovers, but not salty enough.

I didn’t seriously dislike any of our purchases, but the Peanut Butter and Blackberry Jam was my least favorite. I was surprised by this because it seemed to have everything going for it — I tend to like yeast doughnuts more than cake, I’m a huge peanut butter person (if it’s natural pb), and I tend to enjoy jelly doughnuts (especially from Orwasher’s). The doughseed was about double the size of a Dunkin Donuts‘ Munchkin, covered in a peanut butter glaze and speckled with real peanut chunks. The jam inside is made in-house, and I thought this filling was the best part of the pastry. The jam had a real natural quality to it, fruity without being overly cloying. The yeasty dough was light and full of air pockets (as it was for the Valrhona), and the glaze had a solid peanut butter flavor. My disappointment stems from my hope for a real salty/sweet one-two punch from this doughnut. I was surprised by the peanut pieces coating the outside of the doughseed — while their crunch added an unexpected textural contrast, the pieces were not really salted, and just didn’t add a huge amount, flavor-wise. As Jacob said, “If I were a Top Chef judge, I’d definitely call them out — you already had the peanut butter glaze, why add the peanuts on top?” Fortunately, DP offers other doughnuts filled with their homemade jam, which I’m much more interested in trying than their other pb doughnuts on a return visit.

The Valrhona Chocolate yeast doughnut -- surprisingly light, considering its diameter.

The Valrhona Chocolate yeast doughnut — surprisingly light, considering its diameter.

Jacob had his eye on the Valrhona Chocolate, despite being a professed cake doughnut lover. (Only after I happened to check their website did I notice that DP also offers a cake version of the Valrhona doughnut, so obviously he’ll have to go back and try that.) DP does not skimp on portion size for their yeast doughnuts. While their cake donuts are the more familiar, Homer-Simpson-dunk-in-coffee sized treats, the DP yeast donuts appear to be about 1.5 times the size of your average Krispy Kreme. Thanks to Jacob’s fist comparison, you can see we’re talking a Levain cookie/scone sized doughnut. This beast of a baked good was completely coated in chocolate, with a white icing V denoting its flavor. However, we were both shocked to discover that the inside was plain ol’ regular yeast dough, not the fully chocolate experience we were expecting. I can’t really complain about that, since the inside was perfectly airy and chewy and worked as a great vehicle for the chocolate outer layer. The coating had a prominent  and deep cocoa flavor to it. I think I would have preferred a slightly more bitter, smokier chocolate for the icing, since the sweetness of the interior dough would seemingly have the capacity to mitigate a stronger dark chocolate. Maybe I should try the Blackout or Triple Chocolate next time for comparison.

The famed Tres Leches cake doughnut -- a more measured doughnut -- let it grow on you.

The famed Tres Leches cake doughnut — a more measured doughnut that grows on you.

While waiting in line to order, I overheard a man say that DP is known for their Tres Leches cake doughnuts. I’m happy to report that this doughnut deserves those accolades. It was the perfect combination of glaze and filling, decadent without being overbearing. Although the cake dough was a little firmer than you’d find in a slice of actual tres leches cake, DP pipes a filling of sweetened condensed milk in the middle of the doughnut, preventing the insides from becoming too dry and crumbly. Like the Valrhona doughnut, the Tres Leches is fully coated, this time in a milky, vanilla-tinged glaze. It was more subtle in taste than I expected, but that made me appreciate the artistry all the more. I found this doughnut the most successful of the bunch because of its distance from conventional glazed doughnuts. While all three of our picks were inventive and beautifully rendered, the Tres Leches stood out because it made you consider the makeup of the doughnut while you were eating it. I’m sure I’m overthinking it (because this whole blog is pretty much about overthinking food), but if Mark Israel’s aim is to make innovative doughnut flavors that give you pause, well, he hit a home run here.

Final Thoughts:

You can't avoid doughnut imagery in this place -- look down at the bench you're sitting on!

You can’t avoid doughnut imagery in this place — look down at the bench you’re sitting on!

All in all, that first Coconut Cream doughnut I experienced from Doughnut Plant may never be bested, due both to nostalgia and to the eye-opening push it gave me into the world of  exotic doughnuts. However, everything I tried at Doughnut Plant this time around was artfully executed, from unexpected flavor combinations to perfectly baked and fried yeast and cake dough. It’s just plain fun to walk in there and see all the doughnut-mania, and once you do you’ll pretty much be unable to resist the alluring rows of glazed and gleaming doughnuts, begging you to chomp down on them. These ain’t your momma’s doughnuts, and if you’re open to a postmodern pastiche of desserty decadence, then step right up and see what Mark Israel can do for you. You might just find that your favorite type of creme brulee is the deep-fried doughnut kind. For those with an adventurous sweet tooth, Doughnut Plant is definitely worth checking out.

Doughnut Plant

220 West 23rd Street, btwn 7th & 8th Aves.

http://doughnutplant.com