Dinner at Slide: Some Solace for the Indecisive

2013-09-27 19.55.10

Despite being the youngest child in my family, I’ve come to be a big fan of sharing, at least when it comes to food. As I’ve mentioned in prior posts, I really like options, and I usually find myself torn between at least two items when faced with a menu. Fortunately, my parents have always been big on sharing their dishes, often sketching out a strategy based on whether my father will eventually switch plates with my mother, or whether my mother will order something my father doesn’t mind finishing up (he’s a big supporter of Truman’s clean plate doctrine). Now that I’m an adult with a gradually expanding palate, every time I eat with my parents I get to join in on this delicate dance of gustatory genuflection, and I jump at the opportunity to share dishes when dining with friends.

If it wasn’t obvious from the myriad posts in which he has appeared as my culinary compadre, Jacob is also a firm believer in the advantages of strategic shared ordering. Our recent dinner at Slide provided a stress-inducingly long list of bite-size burgers to choose from, but I was happily secure in the fact that I’d get to knock at least two of the offerings off my list before the check arrived.

 

First Impressions:

The front bar area of Slide, facing out onto Bleecker St.

The front bar area of Slide, facing out onto Bleecker St.

Slide, a restaurant specializing in (you guessed it) sliders, is located on Bleecker St., where it seems I spend most of my time these days. It’s only a block or two down from Bantam Bagels, actually, taking up a narrow but very deep space near the corner of Sullivan St. The restaurant has a very lounge-like vibe to it, with a semi-circular bar taking up the majority of the front space, and featuring windows that open out to Bleecker so patrons at the high tables placed in the bar area can people-watch. Moving back towards the rear of the restaurant, the space is softly lit and decked out in cool colors, dark wood tables, and heavy curtains.

 

Walking back from the noise of the street, the soft-lit dining room has a distinct lounge quality to it.

Walking back from the noise of the street, the soft-lit dining room has a distinct lounge quality to it.

The rock garden and fountain at Slide, an unexpected respite from the urban bustle.

The rock garden and fountain at Slide: slightly aesthetically incongruous, but still a nice respite from the urban bustle.

We elected to sit outside, and so were led back to a beautiful fountain and rock garden-set patio. There were some odd Greco-Roman elements strewn about (Jacob sat directly in front of a disgruntled looking bust), but it was nice to have a small piece of greenery back away from the hum of the city street. The only downside was the small size of the patio, which was packed to the brim with tables. This required a bit of maneuvering on the staff’s part. I understand the appeal of having more tables to turn more business, but it might make more sense for Slide to take out a few of the two-tops and not have to worry about anyone falling into the fountain.

 

The Food:

Slide has a good deal of variety on its menu, although you could argue that the pan-global approach is a little disorienting considering the main draw of the place is ostensibly burgers. I guess I’d describe the offerings as eclectic international pub food, whatever that means. The appetizers include items like gorgonzola-stuffed figs, ceviche, and Thai lettuce wraps  (though as someone who just espoused the value of options, maybe I shouldn’t complain). They also serve some salads and non-sandwich entrees, but for the first visit, you really can’t walk into a place called Slide and not order the sliders.

The sliders section of the menu is equally diverse, ranging from beef to veal to  salmon, veggie burger, mushroom, grilled cheese, chicken & waffles, and more. After some serious deliberation (including weighing the merits of some of the combo slider entrees, which give you hodgepodge of sliders from three dishes), Jacob and I decided on the Smoked Duck and the Cheese Steak Korean Bulgogi, with a side of Parmesan, Garlic & Herb Wedge Fries. Oh, did I not mention the variety of spuds and sides you can also pick from? It’s like a middle-school word problem prompting you to use factorials.

The Parmesan Garlic Wedges, an iceberg of starch with an surprising amount hiding below the surface of the tin cup.

The Parmesan, Garlic & Herb Wedges, an iceberg of starch with an surprising amount hiding below the surface of the tin cup.

The fries were served in what turned out to be a surprisingly deep metal cup, topped with a high-hat of parmesan shreds, rosemary and garlic. When we eventually made it to the bottom of the cup, there was a small mountain of herbal dust and debris. The wedges were thick-cut (my personal favorite cut of fry), and were of varying sizes, from steak fry to tater-tot in scope. The potatoes had a taut, crisp skin to them, bright with the cheese and herb seasoning, and eventually giving way to the soft, starchy interior. Even though Jacob generally prefers thinner-cut fries (ala the new spuds at Shake Shack), he and I both found the preparation of the wedges totally addictive.

The Smoked Duck Slider -- a great set of components tripped up by execution.

The Smoked Duck Slider — a great set of components tripped up by execution.

Our sliders arrived on wooden planks with three small divots that cup the bottom bun of each slider. I realized when the Smoked Duck (w/ duck fat chips, blackberry chutney & parmesan bun) arrived that I had misunderstood our server’s description of the burger. I thought the duck fat chips meant that the meat had been formed into chip shapes and then fried, imagining a chicken parmesan-type patty that sounded like a high-risk experiment in cholesterol elevation, but one that I was willing to undergo in the name of science. I was relieved (if slightly disappointed) to discover that the duck fat chips were in fact, potato chips fried in duck fat, nestled beneath a regular old ground duck patty. Above the patty rested the chutney, and the bun sported the same hillock of cheese strands as our fries. I really enjoyed the individual pieces of this slider, but overall felt that flaws in its constructions kept the parts greater than the whole. The duck meat was moist, if not as smokey as I would have thought from its title, but when paired with the blackberry chutney, you had a sour-sweet-fatty combination that was reminiscent of the turkey-cranberry Thanksgiving flavors. I liked the sharpness of the parmesan to highlight the brioche bun, but I think I would have preferred if the cheese had been baked into the bread, since it haphazardly slid off as you progressed through the burger. The chips were a great idea, and ever since I had a “crunchified” burger at Bobby’s Burger Palace, I’ve been a fan of adding in a little textural contrast to a burger with more oomph than crunchy romaine. Unfortunately, but placing the Pringles-thin chips beneath the meat, the juices from the duck soaked into them and removed all semblance of crispness. Ultimately you were left with a fresh but soft bun, soft duck meat, soft chutney, and a soggy chip — great flavors on their own, but somewhat one-note as a full sandwich.

The Cheese Steak Bulgogi slider -- Philly meets Seoul, with some low-level kimchi.

The Cheese Steak Korean Bulgogi slider — Philly meets Seoul, with some low-level kimchi.

The Cheese Steak Korean Bulgogi (w/ pepper-jack & kimchi pickle) was definitely our preferred slider of the night. Instead of coming as a patty, the beef was served in a bundle of thin sliced cheesesteak fashion, although obviously made up of much higher quality meat. As a Philly cheesesteak vet (with strong opinions), cheese whiz or provolone would have been a more authentic topper, but I found that the pepper-jack melded well with the Bulgogi marinade (bulgogi seasoning usually incorporates ingredients with heavy umami, like soy sauce, mushrooms, sesame oil, plus bbq elements like sugar, garlic, pepper, etc). The Korean seasoning gave the meat great depth of flavor, the umami-punch of the beef counterbalanced by the saltiness of the cheese and the kimchi. I was surprised by how mild the pickle was — I’m not usually into pickles of any type, and have had much more powerful kimchi before — but I didn’t mind the pickles at Slide because they mostly seemed like vinegar-dipped cucumber. The Cheese Steak ended up being the opposite of the Duck slider — here, the individual pieces were all pretty good, but not spectacular, but the combination of tastes and textures turned out to be far more successful. The only thing I would add to the slider would be some sort of sliced onions, to add a bit of acidity to the dish and more completely harken back to classic Philly steaks.

 

Final Thoughts:

Slide is definitely a great spot for dabbler dining. It seems best suited to larger groups (ideally in multiples of 3) who are willing to share their entrees, especially if you can work out an effective slider-bartering system. With a wide-ranging menu to suit most tastes, Slide can seem a bit scatter-brained, but the kitchen turns out some solid fare on the more basic offerings, like good ol’ beef for your protein, and a well-seasoned side of fries. I’d like to come back and try some of the other items on the menu, but when I do I’ll probably opt for one safer choice and one more adventurous, and maybe I’ll see how their special menu of spiked milkshakes stands up. So check out Slide if you’re looking to leave behind your humdrum, full size hamburger lifestyle for a day. You’ve got plenty of options to explore, and hopefully a trusted companion to walk through the high and low bites of the menu.

 

Slide

174 Bleecker St. (corner of Sullivan St.)

sliderestaurant.com

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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