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.

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.

I had heard about the gargantuan size of the Hopkins Street Bakery doughnuts for some time. An evening meeting in Berkeley inspired me to BART over a few hours early for the mile-and-a-half jaunt from the station. It was a beautiful day with early spring flowers in bloom along the Arts-and-Crafts suburbia I walked through, proud of myself for getting in a *little* exercise (secretly justifying what I was about to do to my body and knowing damn well that the walk was not going to counter the doughy goodness I was anticipating).

As I came from a back entrance, walking by Monterey Foods, there was a distinct aroma of maple in the air. It was a warm, inviting, baker’s maple that briefly made me disband my desire for a jelly doughnut. I turned the corner and saw the purple door and my heart skipped a beat. I was slightly disappointed when I entered — because I had brought a book and was hoping to settle in and comfortably enjoy my treat — only to learn this was a very small store-front bakery with no tables or chairs. Not a full doughnut shop, the glass cases were full of cinnamon morning buns that looked intensely inviting, classic French pastries, racks of bread loaves, and meringues. But sitting on top of the counter, was a giant cookie sheet topped with jam-oozing, white striped monstrous jelly doughnuts.

I grabbed my treat and a carton of milk and wandered outside. Even the adjoining Pizza Parlor’s wooden benches were full, so I settled comfortably enough on the curb under a flowering tree with a light breeze on the back of my neck. More than 5″ across, this doughnut also has height and girth, puffy and inviting, the first bite provided the much-desired, classic jelly doughnut flavor; granulated sugar coating my fingertips and raspberry jam dripping off the corner of my chin, I was in true doughnut heaven. There was a lot of cake to the doughnut, yes. It took several bites to get to the full river of redness, but it is not a journey one would complain about. My only complaint — and this is entirely my fault — is that I couldn’t get to the bakery until well after 4:00 in the afternoon, so I know I was experiencing a level of minor staleness which could easily be rectified with an earlier visit. Now I have to try and get to Berkeley in the morning, this is definitely worthy of a second try; maybe warm from the oven next time!

1584 Hopkins St
(between California St & Mcgee Ave)
Berkeley, CA 94707
Neighborhood: North Berkeley
(510) 526-8188

In the French language, Trompe-l’œil means to fool the eye. Personally, I am big fan of Trompe-l’œil as an art form. I have practiced it myself — painting a living room ceiling blue with fluffy clouds giving the appearance of a lovely Spring day with the naked sky above me. I learned it as a decorating motif, making the eye see more space than really exists. There are very famous renditions of Trompe-l’œil in the art world, including the modern Carlo Marchiori and his muralist haven, Ca’Toga in Calistoga.

And there is a slight sense of irony that I experienced a little Trompe-l’œil moment at San Francisco’s Coffee Bar. Located in an area in SoMa (South of Market, for those you unfamiliar with our neighborhoods), I had just finished a painting lesson when I settled in at the upstairs bar which looks down upon the workers. I am a metalsmith by training and I had been taking painting lessons from Chris Leib to expand my repertoire.

I spied the dark brown, cinnamon-studded morsels in the pastry case and ordered one alongside a latté. I have to say, it was one damn-fine latté. The “doughnut,” however, was not a doughnut at all. My eye had been tricked by its size, demeanor, and gorgeousness. This hunk of dough had not been fried, but baked. It was dry and leaden and crumbly. It was probably vegan (although I have had some very good vegan pastries) in its attempt to be HEALTHY. Apparently the Coffee Bar gets their pastries (or at least this one) from Jasmine Rae Bakery, but here was an attempt to make something decidedly unhealthy less so. Sadly, it didn’t quite succeed in even being a good baked good. Very crumbly and the consistency of the classic Dolly Madison crumb cake but with so much cinnamon as to burn the mouth.

1890 Bryant St
(between 17th St & Mariposa St)
San Francisco, CA 94110
Neighborhood: Mission
(415) 551-8100

Here in San Francisco, in the vast display cases of the Starbucks empire, lie donuts. Bedecked in white frosting and glittering with sparkly, course, decorative sugar, these little 3″ offerings are beguilingly attractive. Offered in white and chocolate cake, their glistening covering is reminiscent of freshly fallen snow just before Christmas. They tease and they taunt; their white draping perfectly covering what anticipates to be a delectable and engaging treat.

Ah, if only it were to be… Well, it is entirely possible that they ARE, when fresh. Unfortunately, the two different times I have tried them, I have found these doughnuts to be dry and crumbly and the frosting to be too sweet; if you are going to sprinkle sugar all over the damn thing, you don’t need to make the frosting THAT sweet.

Now I know that different Starbucks in different regions source their baked goods from various bakeries. When I lived in Los Angeles, I had a serious addiction to a cinnamon twist that existed at a Starbucks near La Cienega Boulevard. Back then, I think many of the breads were also brought in from the famed La Brea Bakery. I even enjoy the Egg Salad Sandwiches from time to time. It is anyone’s best guess where these San Francisco Starbucks are getting their baked goods as they are wildly inconsistent. Sometimes I see Morning Bunz that look and taste amazing and other times, they are obviously from a different supplier.

Regardless, I think you should trust me on this accord; avoid their donuts.