The Fried Dough Ho

I admit it — I get pretty psyched when I see savory versions of fried dough. Well, truth be told, I’ve only written about one version and so far, I experienced a total of three that I can remember. It was an unexpected surprise when some darling friends took me to dinner at Michael Chiarello’s Bottega in the Napa Valley (Yountville, to be exact) and I was directed towards a fried dough appetizer. I didn’t even recognize it as such when I read it on the menu: Organic Prosciutto “house cured”, pasta fritta, Lambrusco

“Fritta” means fried and it slipped by me until Ron described it. Well of course I had to have it… Served on a large platter were four massive fritters; pasta dough studded with rosemary, deep fried, and then rolled in Parmesan cheese. These warm globules of goodness were served alongside paper-thin slices of prosciutto which had been drizzled with olive oil and topped with a few chunks of mango.

What threw me was the bowl of Lambrusco. When the platter arrived, I hadn’t remembered everything that was written and I thought the bowl was some form of dipping sauce. Ron was the one who told me it was to drink and I felt pretty foolish, dunking the tender, cheesy wonders in the bubbly cold wine. But when a bite of the fritter and prosciutto were taken and followed by the Lambrusco, I had the “ah-ha” moment. The lightly bubbly wine was clean and bright next to the rich sharpness of the cheese coating to the dense, succulent dough.

I give great credit to Chiarello and his team on this dish. It would be easy to make a dough that is leaden and heavy and these were not. It would be easy to under cook them and there was no detection of a gooey, raw interior.  A traditional “dipping sauce” might seem an easier complement but by pairing it with meat and wine and fruit were inventive and original. Kudos are deserved and this Fried Dough Ho couldn’t be happier.

I would like to introduce you to Emily Eveleth. Well, truth-be-told, *I* would like to be introduced to Emily Eveleth but the least I can do is introduce you to Ms. Evelth’s amazing artwork. I first saw her work on the cover of Gastronomica in the Winter of 2003 but I will readily admit that it did not have that much of an impact on me then. Yes, it was a very pretty image of a jelly doughnut and one could easily think it was a photograph. That picture, by the way, is entitled Nigh and was painted in 1998.

It was several years later when I attended Art Basel in Miami Beach, Florida in December of 2007 and I saw it (or another from that series) in person that the full effect hit me. Her paintings are HUGE. The one I saw in person was more than 8′ square. And while she paints other things, she has become quite famous for her jelly doughnuts, which she has been painting for over twenty years.

These doughnuts are sensual; oozing vibrantly seductive jelly which seemingly begs to be touched and licked. These are sexual doughnuts with their gaping maws, opening to reveal the moist inner secrets of desire. Her paintings are hyper-realistic in their size, but a form of food porn that exudes sexual innuendo.

No, we are not celebrating Christmas yet. This is yet another mostly-obscure media reference which I wanted to share from American actor, writer, and folk musician Burl Ives.

I grew up listening to Burl Ives sing The Big Rock Candy Mountain on one of my 38 rpm records. From my childhood, I knew he was the narrator voice of Sam the Snowman in the classic Christmas classic television show Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer.  And when I embraced classic movies, saw Oscar® winner-Ives in his larger-than-life portrayal of Rufus Hannassey in The Big Country, Big Daddy in Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, and as the implacable Dr. Hasselbacher in one of my absolute favorite movies, Our Man In Havana.

As the banjo-playing folk musician, he penned dozens of folksy, down-home tunes and I stumbled on a feel-good ditty which inspired one to look at the big picture through doughnut philosophy:

When you walk the streets you’ll have no cares
If you walk the lines and not the squares
As you go through life make this your goal
Watch the donut, not the hole.

It’s written on the rainbow, in letters made of gold
Written on the rainbow, there’s wisdom to behold
My friend the little sparrow flew
Close enough to see
Written on a rainbow is this philosophy.

I’m off to jolly England where
Bulldogs all wear pants
Off to Pago Pago where alligators dance
My friend the little sparrow will
Take me where he flies
Even to the rainbow to read with my own eyes

Most cities boast a handful of all-night establishments. Usually they are relegated to Dennys or diners of similar ilk. And then there are doughnut shops. In San Francisco, the number of places one can go and hang-out in the middle of the night is few and far between — much fewer than other cities like New York or Los Angeles — but thank goodness there are few 24-hour doughnut establishments.

Allstar Donuts on the Chestnut Avenue of the Marina district is such a store. I was walking home last night from a concert at the Palace of Fine Arts. Most of the restaurants were close to shutting down and even on a Thursday, there was quite a crowd outside most of the bars; 20-something hotties still looking for a late-night hook-up. Allstar is located on a corner and still bedecks a circa-1950s sign with neon that sometimes works but mostly does not. Even when all of the other surrounding businesses are closed and dark, a bright light shines out from the Allstar storefront. Late in the evening, the racks are full of every variety; glazed and raised, cake and sprinkled, holes and sugared.

It is an extensive variety and this late in the evening, it is an easy bet that a majority of the offerings are warm from the oven. I’ve eaten Allstar Donuts a number of times. They are perfectly adequate — nay, even slightly better than so for providing a wide variety and always being available. There are no gourmet doughnuts here; no organic, vegan, dragonfruit or kumquat flavors. The sign is circa 1950 and so is the feeling one gets on the classic black-and-white checkered floor. This is nostalgia at its best. My personal favorites tend toward the cakes at Allstar, chocolate with frosting and cinnamon crumb. They are dense and rich and all so uniform in their soldier-like presentation.

Inasmuch, I would like to introduce you to Michael. Taking my photographs at Allstar around 10:30 at night, Michael and his friend walked in and with much determination, I heard Michael call out, “one chocolate doughnut, please.” I turned to see an elegantly lanky gentleman pull his single doughnut out of the bag and chomp into right there. I asked if I could take his picture. There was something comforting about the immediacy of the pleasure Michael was experiencing in buying and consuming his doughnut with such fervor. Michael’s friend was saving his doughnut for later and this was about the shared joy of watching Michael and sharing a moment among friends over a doughnut.

Here’s to you, Michael. And here’s to all the Allstar Donuts that exist around the country, offering up their sweet bites of comfort at all hours of the day and night.