[The stage is set: a cloudy fall afternoon on the Lower East Side of Manhattan; it's Devil's Night Friday. In the background, faint strains of Brit Punk can be heard filtering through the street noise.]
"What exactly is a Yankees doughnut," I asked.
"Glazed with blueberry pinstripes, of course," came the answer. Ah yes, of course.... Then, “Where are you guys from?”
“My friends are from San Fran; I’m from Philly.”
They still sold me the doughnut, but only after throwing in some raspberries.
The doughnut was pretty enough but I refused to take its picture. I'm sure the bakers at the Doughnut Plant conceived it as a tribute but I was looking at it more as a voodoo-style exorcism. Eat it and, tasty or not, it would eventually end up exactly where I hoped the Yanks would be headed by the end of Game 7. Need I say more?
About that, perhaps not, but the goodies being dished up at the Doughnut Plant do bear further consideration, not to mention repeat investigation.
The PB&J in its pre- and mid-sacrificicial states.
Chompers courtesy of Old Wurld Old Skool Joe.
The basic glazed Yankees doughnut was chewier than the norm, giving it a much different, somehow more substantial feel than the typical melt-in-your-mouth sugar and shortening bomb. The real standouts though, as my sugar craving partners in crime have already reported, are the cake doughnuts, such as the coconut spiked Tres Leches with its creamy-sweet, dairy rich filling, and the decadently dark and rich Blackout, filled as the name implies with gooey, chocolate-y goodness. My pals were on an anti-pumpkin rampage all weekend but I didn’t let that stop me from enjoying the Plant’s seasonal offering. I must say, though, it paled in comparison to the PB&J, a square-shaped, heartier yeast-raised doughnut spread with peanut buttery glaze and filled with raspberry jam. Put that in a brown bag – guaranteed to send your kiddies into lunchtime sugar shock and send them careening back for more.
A dozen will set you back a pretty sum on the doughnut dollar scale but it’s definitely worth the occasional indulgence.
379 Grand Street
New York, NY 10002
Postscript: It should be noted that the title of this post is meant to be sung to the following tune, hopefully leading into, “...and the Yankees lost.” The next few days will tell….