Location: 1057 Morris Park Avenue
Subway: 5 to Morris Park, followed by a 10 minute walk (see map). Getting here is not easy and getting back is even harder; more on this below.
Neighborhood: Morris Park, a working-class neighborhood whose residents are apparently required by law to pave over their small, cramped lawns with concrete, ring them with menacing iron gates, and then festoon the property with plastic ghosts and jack-o'-lanterns, cardboard turkeys, inflatable snowmen, Irish and Italian flags, plastic garlands of ersatz fall leaves, soiled whimsical scarecrows, horse-and-buggy plaques, Hannah Montana posters, fake roses, and "Beware of Dog" signs.
My order: Chocolate-frosted cruller, black-and-white custard-filled donut, plain glazed, small coffee.
Cost: $3.85
I have to confess. Until today, I had never intentionally set foot in the Bronx, although I did end up there once by accident, in 1998, after falling asleep on the 2 train. And that is a shame because the Bronx is so central to American history and culture. Hip-hop was invented there. The "Bronx cheer" was born there. The Archie comic books were set there, in Riverdale. Babe Ruth caroused with prostitutes there and hit home runs there that he'd promised to gravely ill children. And whatever the Grand Concourse is -- and whatever it is that people do there -- all that, too, is there.
What was I thinking? I mean, people! Did you realize Edgar Allan Poe wrote "Annabel Lee" while living out the last years of his tragic, penniless life in the Bronx?
Anyway, today I atoned. Thanks to the MTA's jumbled weekend service, I had to take three different trains to get to the Morris Park station, but I managed. And after a brisk walk past innumerable tin awnings and Catholic grade schools, I found myself at Enrico's, a shop that offers not only donuts but also Italian cakes and pastries, elaborate cookies and tarts, a forlorn-looking pyramid of cupcakes studded with M&M's, and many many cannolis.
Enrico's is staffed by a gaggle of cheerfully insolent teenage girls who seem only intermittently aware that they are working at a place of business. My coffee order temporarily vanished into an ether of giggles and conspiratorial whispers. When I asked for extra napkins, the ringleader of the girls -- apparently known to the regular customers as "the cheerleader" -- tried to charge me a penny a napkin.
"You're kidding," I said.
"Don't mess with the cheerleader," cackled a weatherbeaten man in his late 40s who leaned against a wall in the corner, sipping from a paper cup and eyeing the girls closely.
Later, another customer came in -- also a crinkled white man in late middle age -- and engaged the girls in some mildly creepy sass. "Who's your favorite customer?" he asked them. "C'mon, aren't I your favorite customer?"
"You're all our favorite customers," replied the napkin gouger. "Well, except some of you aren't."
"Do not mess with the cheerleader," repeated the man in the corner.
However, I should also say that the girls let me use their bathroom in the back. Enrico's gets many bonus points for that. And after I used the bathroom I took a peek at the surprisingly large baking and frying operation going on in the back room where men in white aprons and white paper hats toiled in a cloud of flour. It's a nearly 24-hour operation back there, I was told.
As for the donuts, they are pretty good. If you can only eat one donut from Enrico's, it absolutely has to be their custard filled. I don't know why more people don't fill their donuts with custard. The weight and texture of the vanilla custard filling went very well with the light, fresh donut surrounding it. On the other hand, the black and white frosting was probably excessive. It was no different than cake frosting, which is great for a cake but not so great for a light, pillowy donut.
Sadly, Enrico's committed the same sin with the frosted cruller pictured at the top of this post. Crullers are all about lightness and airiness. In fact, the sign of a truly great cruller is that, when you bite into it, it somehow seems lighter than is physically possible. Whether the crullers at Enrico's meet that standard is impossible to know because they are loaded down with cake frosting. It truly is a sin, a senseless act of transgression and destruction, like dipping cotton candy in nacho cheese.
After that sour note, I was relieved to enjoy a very good, very light, very fresh plain glazed. It was the perfect finish after the heaviness of the earlier donuts.
And with that, the visit was over, and I was back on the Morris Park platform. The 5 train back to Manhattan was nowhere to be found. A handful of glum people sat on benches with their chins in their hands, as though they'd been there for a long time. It was only one o'clock in the afternoon but the station was crepuscular and desolate, as if trying to warn us that the wait would not be short.
Eventually a train approached, but passed without stopping. Then the garbage train inched by. If you've never waited on a NYC platform when that yellow and black garbage train painstakingly grinds and wheezes along the track -- which means that the next passenger train will not be arriving for a very long time -- you have never experienced true hopelessness.
At this point, an elderly woman in wraparound sunglasses began dragging a nylon plaid laundry bag up and down the platform, ranting to no one in particular about the poor subway service. "This is the most disgusting train I've ever had to ride," she said. "What a horrible line! I used to live in Parkchester, that was much better. Horrible!"
When this failed to get a response from anyone, she stomped down the platform, squinting at each passenger one by one. "Look at you all!" she said. "You just sit there! Don't say a word! Don't complain! You sons a' bitches."
She scraped her nylon bag over the concrete. "Well, guess what?" she said. "I'm going to City Hall tomorrow. I'm going to complain! Straight to the mayor!"
Another 5 train, an express train, zoomed past the platform without stopping. The old woman frowned.
"But he's a shithead, too," she said, "that Bloomberg."
Eventually a local 5 train did stop, and we all got on silently. I can't remember where the old woman got off. It was a long journey to the Bronx, but I'm still glad I made it, and I hope it's not my last visit there.
And finally, if you're thinking of making the trip up to Morris Park, you should also check out this report from Cakespy. (Thanks also to Rachel from Cupcakes Take the Cake for mentioning this to me.)
November 16, 2008
Enrico's Pastry Shop & Café, Morris Park Ave. between Hone and Lurting Aves., the Bronx
