Smith's Grocery, Smith St. & Bergen St., Brooklyn

I've been stalking this donut for days like Ahab pursuing the white whale. I first glimpsed a case full of them last week as I stumbled out of the Greek diner down the street. I was stunned, too stunned (and too full of diner burger and French fries) to do anything other snap a cell phone photo and marvel at the size of these donuts. As you can see, Smith's also carries jelly and plain glazed in the same gigantic size.



I came back to the deli on three consecutive mornings, only to find the donuts already sold out. Finally I went today around 7:30 and had my pick. The chocolate frosted seemed the most photogenic. I only got through half of it and saved the rest for later. This wasn't because it tasted bad -- on the contrary, the donut flesh was fresh and yielding, the frosting was creamy, and the sprinkles gave way without a fight when you bit into them. I just simply couldn't finish it. This is a family-sized donut, a tremendous bargain at $1.50. A truckload of these could stave off a famine.

The cashier at Smith's had no clue which bakery supplied the donut, "But," he said, "I know everybody loves it. And it's big!"

Sometimes bigger is better, people.

Small Monsters

As you know, from time to time I will refer you to enjoyable stories in the New York Times because reading good newspaper articles is an essential component of the NYC donut lifestyle. Unfortunately, today I'm afraid I'm going to have to condemn rather than commend -- and believe me, I have tried to hold back on this all week -- so, sorry, but I must unburden myself.

The late Norman Mailer once said something to the effect that people who write badly are "small monsters," which is an incredibly pretentious thing to say (not to mention callous, as I believe he made this observation while critiquing the prose style of an essay written by his ex-wife on the subject of being stabbed by he, Norman Mailer). And yet sometimes it is true.

The New York Times has a sportswriter -- I won't even name the person here, the name doesn't matter -- who first came to my attention for writing a series of ham-fisted accounts of the recent Olympic swimming trials. Here's an actual quote from the lede of the first article:

OMAHA — Every four years, the United States Olympic swimming trials sweep through the sporting landscape like a fast-moving weather front, bearing fickle winds of fate, thundering performances and heavy precipitation in the form of tears.

Not to be cruel, but this is the New York Times, the nation's paper of record. That sounds like a passage lifted from some Midwestern high school yearbook from a bygone era. Fickle winds of fate? Thundering performances? Heavy precipitation in the form of tears? You should have to get a license or something before using figurative language in print.

And later in the same article we're treated to more painfully awkward metaphors such as --

These trials also provide evidence that family trees can bloom when watered with chlorine. Among the roughly 1,200 participants are a few super siblings . . .

-- and this closing combination --

They will spend the next eight days battling one another and the public perception that it is this year’s high-tech racing suits, rather than their own sweat, that is at the root of their success.

The trials are always full of surprises, but this year one thing is for certain. The area where the news media meets the athletes will be like the red carpet at the Oscars, with the winners being asked what they are wearing.

No matter which manufacturer’s swimsuit they wear, most of the participants will spend the week feeling stark naked, their dreams exposed for all to see.

I really am trying not to be mean here. Trust me. I only bring this up because on Monday of this week, this very same sportswriter -- and I am really doing this person a favor by not naming them here -- produced an article that was not only a literary crime but also an offense against an entire nation, entitled "Poolside View of History at '36 Games":

What Mary Lou Skok would have given for a cellphone camera in 1936, when she and other United States Olympians were bused to a convention hall in Berlin to hear the chancellor of Germany, Adolf Hitler, speak . . .

As in 1936, the 2008 Olympics are being hosted by an authoritarian regime using the Summer Games as its coming-out party. Hitler’s Germany had been in isolation since its defeat in World War I. Although there are plenty of differences, China is emerging, too, after spending much of nearly two centuries in weakness, poverty and shame.

Some in the Western world say China’s communist government is treating the 2008 Games as a propaganda exercise, much as the Nazis in 1936. . .

In the lead-up to the Beijing Games, China’s policies on Tibet and Darfur have drawn widespread protests, including during the running of the torch relay, an event linking the modern and ancient Olympics that traces its roots to the 1936 Games.

And it continues on like this.

So, WTF? China in 2008 is an emerging threat on equal footing with the German Nazis in 1936? Did I miss something in the news? I mean, fine: Is the Chinese government very authoritarian and paranoid? Yes, it is. But! Is China a fascist nation invading its neighbors and rounding up millions of people into genocidal death camps?

Of course our unnamed correspondent drops the caveat that "there are plenty of differences." Ya think? It's just that apparently those differences are not enough to stop the writer from forging ahead with the article and its mean-spirited premise.

It would be another thing entirely if this were somehow the 1968 Beijing Olympics and the athletes were required to march in the opening ceremonies brandishing copies of the Little Red Book as Mao and Madame Mao looked on and smiled while packs of quasi-official hooligans tore the country apart and millions starved. Mao was a maniac who ostensibly stood for the progress of the working class but actually loathed progress or stability of any kind; whenever the China he ruled enjoyed a minute of prosperity he stepped in to smash it.

Mao wanted constant upheaval. It was an end it itself for him. That is very different than what the current regime wants, which, simply put, is stability, profits and no bad publicity. Human rights are violated to achieve these ends, just as they are sometimes violated by a certain other prosperity-seeking nation we all know and love. That is all. Anyway, the China of today couldn't afford to wipe out millions of its own citizens as the Nazis did, even if it wanted to, simply because those millions are desperately needed to make sneakers and iPod components in factories.

So, ugh. Shame on the Times. Just as you should need a license to use figurative language, another license should be required to compare anyone to the Nazis. And this license should never, ever be issued to anyone. When real Nazis walk the earth again we will crank out the licenses like crazy. But for now nobody gets one.

Small monsters, people.
.

Simpsons Donut on Lady Liberty

Someone in the comments suggested this existed. Here it is.

Balthazar Bakery, Spring St at Crosby St

Location: 80 Spring Street

Subway: R/W to Prince St

On the Web: www.balthazarbakery.com

Neighborhood: Soho. An artists' district that devolved into a sort of "artist"-themed shopping concourse. Then for a few seconds it was simply a rich neighborhood, and it has now become a sort of "affulence"-themed shopping mall. (The real rich people are all in secluded, depopulated Tribeca. And the real artists are all either in Bushwick, Brooklyn or churning out knockoff masterpieces in sweatshops in Guangzhou, China.)

My order: Iced coffee, plain sugar donut, peanut donut

Cost: $5.00

Balthazar Bakery is a tiny storefront boulangerie adjacent to the famous restaurant of the same name. Although you don't hear as much about the bakery as you do about the restaurant -- which was a place of the moment in the late 1990s and still appears on many top 10 lists -- the donuts here are really outstanding (though small). You might think the bakers at Balthazar only turn to donuts as an afterthought or as a silly way to get rid of excess dough, but you would be wrong. They are not messing around. In fact, their plain sugar might be the greatest donut in New York City, and the peanut donut is not only palatable -- which for a peanut donut is tantamount to a feat of sorcery -- but is in fact truly delicious.

Now, the one time I dined at Balthazar, many years ago, I was the guest of one of my ESL students: a princely, pale, fair-haired 17-year-old named Ivan de Polo. Although Mr. de Polo comported himself like the heir to a duchy or barony somewhere in Britain or Austria, he was in fact a native-born citizen of Mexico who had been kidnapped and held for ransom so many times in his homeland that his exasperated father finally had him removed to the US for the safety of both the son and the family fortune.

I remember that this was during the peak of Balthazar's popularity, so even Ivan had to wait for a table. His six or seven other guests and I hung around the bar, where we downed a series of cocktails that was magically paid for by unseen hands, and before long I found myself in a private room in the back, separated from the rabble by a lush velvet curtain and up to my elbows in coq au vin. The menus were the kind you can request in advance that have no prices on them, and I never did notice a bill arriving at the table. After the meal, as we stumbled into the cool night air, the staff handed each of us a baguette wrapped in Balthazar paper. It was explained to me that the bakery was closing and the bread would have been thrown out anyway.

At that time I was living in the East Village, so I decided to walk home. Somewhere around Avenue A I was approached by an emaciated homeless man asking for spare change. Instead of giving him money, I offered the man the baguette. But he recoiled at the sight of it. "Come on, man!" he said. "Not that Balthazar bread again! I am so sick of that shit!"

But I digress.

Anyway, at $1.25 each, the donuts at Balthazar are a surprising bargain. It's true that they are on the small side -- just a bit larger than an Entenmann's mini-donut, if that helps -- but they are surprisingly filling. The texture of both donuts was just outstanding: the outside is crunchy and intensely flavorful, as though it had been deep-fried, yet miraculously light and not at all greasy. The donut innards are tender and innocent. I really felt as though each donut had been made for me personally by a compassionate baker who somehow knew me and cared about me deeply.

The plain sugar donut was perfectly dusted so that most of the sugar comes free of the donut in your mouth and not on your fingers. And I have to say that, as strange as it may sound, not all sugar is created equal: these sugar grains were big, sweet and sparkly, as though each granule had been individually cut by an esteemed craftsman peering through a jeweler's loupe somewhere on the Continent. And I know that some people contend that the peanut donut is the very worst variety of donut -- we had a raging debate about this on the blog a few weeks ago -- but Balthazar's peanut donut would change anyone's mind. Their secret seems to be a rich glaze they put on the donut first, and some technique for roasting, finely chopping and possibly sauteeing the nuts so that they form a sort of toasted, sophisticated compote that doesn't lodge in your teeth. Not even a jaded beggar would turn it down.

Breaking Video: Massive (Fake?) Donut on Rio's Famed Christ the Redeemer Statue

You decide: Is this a miracle of the Biblical kind or just a miracle of computer graphics technology?

The Swedish Chef Makes Donuts

To the bafflement of the rest of my household, I have been obsessively watching Muppet Show DVDs for the past several days. As you'll see, the Swedish Chef has developed a shocking technique for making donuts.

Question for discusson: Is it wrong for the Swedish Chef to shoot the donut? Or does the object hanging in midair not even become a donut until the moment it is shot?

Nutritional Facts for Starbucks, Krispy Kreme & Dunkin' Donuts

Despite its reputation for making delicious but fatally unhealthy donuts, Krispy Kreme's offerings are actually healthier than the donuts at Starbucks. The nutritional value of Starbucks' donuts allegedly varies from region to region -- they use different suppliers in different areas -- but at least here in New York, Starbucks is actually more unhealthy than both KK and Dunkin' Donuts.

Let's look at the numbers. KK's apple fritter weighs in at 380 calories and 20 grams of fat. Not exactly a shot of wheatgrass, I realize, but the Starbucks apple fritter has 490 calories and 22 grams of fat.

How about the Starbucks glazed old fashioned? It's got 480 calories and 23 grams of fat, compared to 280 and 18 for the Dunkin' Donuts old fashioned.

Want more data??

Click here for nutritional information on all the Krispy Kreme donuts.

Click here for nutritional information on all the Dunkin' Donuts products.

Here are the nutritional facts for the Starbucks apple fritter, Starbucks glazed old-fashioned and Starbucks chocolate sandcastle donut.

UPDATE: The Starbucks links are misbehaving. You can follow this stable link and choose the NYC Starbucks product you want nutrition information for.

Outtakes from Greenpoint Donut Binge

Hello, people!! I am still mired in on-again, off-again jury duty, but don't worry. It will end soon. In the meantime, here are photos of some of the lovely donut places I recently visited in Greenpoint, Brooklyn. Those of you who are not from NYC should consider flying out just to try all the terrific donuts in this neighborhood.


Front window of Peter Pan Donut & Pastry Shop


Old Poland Bakery, Manhattan Avenue


Bakery Rzeszowska, Manhattan Avenue

Indignity, Injustice and Indigestion

My Friday night was clearly off to a bad start when an insane man tried to attack me in the Jay Street subway station. There I was, being elbowed, kicked and chased up and down the platform by a sort of urban golem who shouted at me, "I don't like you! I do NOT like you!" as a growing crowd of onlookers pointed and giggled.

Just when I had decided to allow myself to be backed against a wall and pummeled (which was preferable to being pushed into an oncoming F train), my assailant became distracted by something else and wandered away. I should have taken the episode as an omen and just gone home.

Instead I continued on to the hipper-than-thou Slipper Room to hear official Donut Homie Brian Booker read his hilarious and brilliant short story "Pennsylvania: A Guide to Lodging" at a literary competition sponsored by The L Magazine.

Now, I don't want to disparage the other competitors. Their stories were both good and they should be pleased with their efforts. But I think everyone who was present would agree that Brian's reading brought down the house. There was a group of young men standing near me who were all doubled over with laughter numerous times during Brian's story. After each funny line you could hear people throughout the bar repeating the latest bon mot in awe and wonderment. When the story was finished, the crowd was on its feet cheering.

And yet? The panel of esteemed judges -- who I will not name here to spare them further shame and ignominy -- gave the prize to one of the other stories. The reaction from the crowd was a sort of stunned silence. The Slipper Room is very lucky not to have been burned to the ground that night.

Then, finally, to cap off the evening, a series of bad judgments ended with us dining at Sammy's Roumanian Steakhouse on the Lower East Side, which I know is considered a charming and schmaltzy New York City institution by most, but which struck me last night as more like a vision of Hell. For those who haven't been lured there yet, Sammy's is a zero-ambiance, fluorescent-lit basement restaurant specializing in overcooked, heartburn-inducing Jewish specialties. For those with a death wish, syrup dispensers full of chicken fat are provided at each table to drizzle over your greasy stuffed cabbage. The menus are tenth-generation black and white photocopies stapled to manila folders, yet the prices can only be described as stratospheric. Also, for entertainment, a man with a Casio keyboard sings 1950s oldies and, at every possible opportunity, points to members of the audience and says, "There's another Jew! And there's another Jew!"

Alka-Seltzer was handed out after the meal as a gag, but it was no joke. I really needed it. Even now, almost 24 hours later, my entire G.I. system feels like a soiled, wrung-out rag.

However, I also have to say that it was great seeing so many of my friends at once, even if a chicken fat dispenser had to be involved, and many people in the group seemed to be in a state of Sammy's-induced bliss. I hope my own private misery didn't spread to anyone else.

Enough griping. We will return to normal donut reporting shortly.

Outtakes from Sunset Park Donut Report

Here's another photo I wish I'd included in the report on Sunset Park Diner & Donuts. This is the front window of a self-styled "Novelty Shop" on 5th Avenue. The picture really doesn't do the storefront justice. There are hundreds of religious figurines on display, and for some reason they are also mixed in with several oversized porcelain frogs.

More Chinatown

Excellent Pork Chop House, Doyers St.


Mei Dick Barber Shop, Mott St. and Pell St.

What Maniac Would Do This??

Another fear to add to the ever-growing list: that some cunning sociopath will give me the "jelly donut surprise," in which the unwitting victim is given a jelly donut drained of jelly and refilled with a mixture of ketchup and mustard.

Why, people, why??

Mike's Donuts & Coffee, 5th Avenue between 68th St. & Bay Ridge Ave., Brooklyn

Location: 6822 5th Avenue

Subway: R to Bay Ridge Ave

Neighborhood: Bay Ridge. Pleasant, quiet, bland and remote. Innumerable tin awnings. Chinese and Arabic-language signage on the rise as the Italian-American establishments dwindle.

My order: Jelly donut, cinnamon donut, plain glazed, large coffee.

Cost: $2.75

On the Web: www.mikesdonuts.com

Mike's Donuts is a no-nonsense subway-tiled coffee, donut and bagel place that's focused on to-go traffic from commuters and is unremarkable in every way except for one little thing -- their freshly-made donuts are remarkably delicious. The shop has appeared in many "Best Donuts of NYC" lists, and if you visit their Web site you will see that they have even been featured on the Rachael Ray show. (Presumably this was before Ms. Ray became a paid shill for Dunkin' Donuts and, as some haters would have it, a terrorist dupe.)

Now, for the past few weeks I have been asking the employees of the donut shops I visit to choose my order for me. They are often pretty puzzled when I ask, "Which donuts are good here?" but ultimately come up with a few suggestions. But getting this information from the fidgety, shaven-headed man on duty at Mike's this morning was like cross-examining a hostile witness. When I asked him which donuts were good today, he made a great show of shrugging in bafflement. "I couldn't say about that," he said. "How could I know what you like?"

"Well," I said, "how about the jelly donuts? How are they?"

He snapped open a paper bag. "OK, jelly donut it is. How many?"

I ended up going with the jelly donut, which was a soft and puffy marvel. After every bite I just watched in awe as the donut flesh sprung back into shape. In addition, I chose a donut dusted with a very pleasing mix of sugar and cinnamon.

My last pick was the plain glazed pictured above. As you can see, it is enormous and gorgeous. And yet, when you hold it in your hand, it is so light and delicate that you want to just wrap it up in a soft baby blanket and protect it from this cruel world. But once I overcame that urge and actually ate it, I have to say I was disappointed. Something had obviously gone wrong, because the glaze was sour when it should have been sweet. To be exact, it was simultaneously sour and saccharine, as though it had been made with a special concoction of spoiled-milk-flavored Sweet 'N Low.

I'm sure this was a one-off error, and I will not hesitate to order the plain glazed again on my next visit. At any rate, whatever went wrong, the counterman ain't saying nothing.

Chinatown

Nissun Discount Seafood, Madison St. between Market and Catherine

Jury Duty Special: Botched Surreptitious Photos of Catherine Street Donut Shop

As I mentioned earlier, I am away helping our nation's justice system by sitting in a windowless room in Downtown Brooklyn and doing absolutely nothing for hours on end. In lieu of the donut reporting I normally would have brought you, here are some botched photographs from last week's harrowing report on the Catherine Street Donut Shop. I really wanted to capture the flavor of the place but, as you can see, my undercover photography skills are poor.

Donut or Not Donut??

Discuss.


White Castle, Downtown Brooklyn

Donut Shop, Catherine Street between Madison and Monroe

Location: 51 Catherine St.

Subway: F to East Broadway

Neighborhood: Chinatown

My order: Plain, chocolate glazed, coffee.

Cost: $4.00, including $1.80 tip.

Did I really say that the Jay Street Donut House was the city's only true donut dive? Forgive me, for I couldn't have been more mistaken.

Today's NYC Donut Report!! takes us to the donut dive of all donut dives: a cramped, greasy, worn-out, wood-paneled donut hovel located across the street from the Gov. Alfred E. Smith housing project. Forgotten both by time and, apparently, the Health Department, this establishment does business under the no-nonsense name of "Donut Shop."
















In addition to the wood paneling, the place is decorated with very worn-out Chinese good luck charms; plastic crates of work gloves, duct tape and discarded packaging that are placed on the same racks as the food; a closed-circuit security monitor powered by a jumble of extension cords dangling from the ceiling; and a sternly-worded cardboard sign, probably borne of bitter experience, telling customers "Please COUNT Your Change BEFORE Leaving!"

Donut Shop is presided over by a Chinese couple who have been doing business there for over ten years, yet still seem to be in disbelief over their surroundings. When I asked the woman, who looked to be about 50 and wore a green plastic visor, how business was going at Donut Shop, she waved her hand dismissively over the premises. "Look at these people!" she said. "They got no money!"

I have to say that my fellow diners seemed very nice. They ate plates of eggs and potatoes topped with melted squares of American cheese at the counter or in the tattered booths in the back, and they exchanged pointers for getting through court-appointed counseling sessions with one's dignity intact. The coffee was very strong, the prices were very low and payment was on the honor system. You reported your order to the woman on the way out and she gave you your total.

As you can see from the photo, the selection of donuts here can only be described as pitiful. The donuts are not made here but delivered by the Mac Donut Corp. of Long Island City (I was shown the invoices, which were all neatly dumped in a pile on the floor). I seriously doubt the donuts are delivered daily. Although my chocolate glazed was perhaps passable, that might only be in comparison to the rubbery plain donut. Breaking off a piece of that donut was like pulling apart a piece of chicken.

Only in New York, people!!

If you are in Chinatown with a craving for donuts, it can be hard to get satisfaction. But there are a zillion bakeries in the neighborhood that offer approximations of donuts. (And there is even an actual Dunkin' Donuts on Canal and West Broadway.) After the Donut Shop, I walked for a few minutes over to Fay Da Bakery on Mott and Canal, a clean, bustling shop that serves a great coconut bun and a truly amazing thing called a taro puffball. The taro puffball is filled with a sweet, creamy, purple paste of unknown origin. (Presumably it's made of taro, but that just begs the question: What is taro?)
































Anyway, happy Fourth of July, people. After the break, I will be away serving my country on an urgent assignment (jury duty), but with any luck the donut reporting will continue without significant interruptions.

Red Hook IKEA Mystery Dessert

I am a bit scared to tell you about this meal, since everyone who has heard so far has laughed in my face. But yesterday I took the free shuttle bus down to the new Red Hook IKEA just to have the Swedish meatballs for lunch.

What is so wrong with that? Those meatballs are delicious! And, yes, I definitely considered bringing back a package of frozen meatballs but I was afraid they would melt on the bus.

What wasn't so delicious was the IKEA mystery dessert pictured above. Of course I had been hoping they would serve donuts. No such luck with that, but I thought these objects looked interesting and I was especially excited about the coconut-covered ones. Well, the green log did have a nice mousse-like texture and tasted like egg nog and rum.

The coconut covered turds (sorry, but I have to call it like it is) were a major disappointment, though. They tasted like a chocolate mousse cake that had been freeze-dried for astronauts (or perhaps for soldiers in a third-world child army) and then never properly reconstituted.

As I struggled to chew and swallow, there in the Swedish cafeteria so close to the anniversary of the writing of our nation's Declaration of Independence, the Statue of Liberty eyed me from across the post-industrial wastelands of Red Hook. There was a flash of sunlight over the harbor, and I think she shed a tear for me, and indeed a tear for America.