[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.
Doughnut Plant
379 Grand Street
New York, NY 10002
(212) 505-3700
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….
4 comments:
The stuff of dreams. I wake up this morning and my pan de muerto is gone, so I'm off to the bakery right now to find something that replicates the fabulous loops of joy you show here - a French torsade maybe. Disappointment inevitable. Good doughnuts are hard to by in MTL, where only the Italians do them justice.
Did the Plant make you and your friends buy a baker's dozen like they did to me?
Little has changed since your '06 visit, Marcus. We sat on that very bench while enjoying our donuts -- only five, we weren't forced into seven or thirteen -- on a crisp, fall day. They're still ample without being overblown and, as you make clear, are still dangerously good.
Great minds think alike in other ways as well, it seems. While the coffee culture in NY has improved significantly over the last three years, 9th Street Espresso is still a benchmark. I had an excellent macchiato there just a couple of hours before wandering down to the Doughnut Plant.
(PS: I tried to leave this as a comment on your post but found that you've disabled commenting so left it here instead.)
You are dangerous to read in the morning. Had one and one-half torsades and a mini-brioche. (Sounds like figure skating.) Wasn't bad, but no donut. Washed down with Stumptown - are they still selling their roasts at 9th St?
And sorry about the World Series. Just heard the news on the radio.
(These days my blog is only active to comment spammers so I disabled that.)
Always glad to be a bad influence, Marcus. If they're still selling Stumptown at 9th Street, I didn't see it. They had their own brand of beans for sale, though I didn't ask for details as to where/by whom the roasting is done.
As for the Series, my voodoo donut mojo obviously wasn't strong enough to do the trick.
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