The Fried Dough Ho

Yes, this is food from Panda Express; I suppose the dirge of Americanized Chinese food. Perhaps that is a stretch; they DO use fresh ingredients and DO NOT add MSG. But their best-selling dish is Orange Chicken with a serving size of 5.4 ounces comes in at 400 calories with 640 mg of sodium. Add fried rice with that and a 5 ounce serving comes in at 450 mg of sodium. And there is a Panda Express about fifty steps from my apartment which makes it all that much harder when I get jonesing for some fried dough.

The Crab Rangoon is not Chinese. It is a won-ton skin (essentially an eggroll wrapper which is an egg- and flour-based dough, rolled out very thin to contain a variety of ingredients). Some reports Crab Rangoon to have been developed in the 1950s for Trader Vic’s, possibly having come via Burma. For it is certain isn’t Chinese since its main filling is cream cheese studded with crab meat and scallions. Honestly, I don’t think I have ever detected a bit of crab — or even fake krab, known as surimi — within the Panda Express versions. But they ARE fried dough and along with their Spring Rolls, occasionally help me get over those cravings I get for fried dough.

It is bad and I admit it. The Crab Rangoon order contains three pouches at 190 calories with 180 mg of sodium. The Spring Rolls (vegetarian, ostensibly!), where you get two, are 160 calories but a whopping 540 mg of sodium. And then there is their sweet-and-sour sauce. Horrific, glowing orange-red sauce mostly based on corn syrup, that is 80 calories all on its own, with 180 mg of sodium. Perhaps by confessing this addiction, it will help me break from it. I know it is bad and I know it is fake and I know how detrimental it is to my overall well-being.

My name is Carrie and I am a Fried Dough Ho.

There is no way around it, there are a plethora of doughnut shops around the world which should be ashamed of themselves. This will more of a philosophical investigation as I hearken them to similarly disparaging fast-food restaurants. Here in parts of San Francisco (name, the Tenderloin), they serve a purpose to a certain aspect of society — the unknowing, the uncaring, the homeless and the crack addicts.

I will confess that when I wander the streets of San Francisco and I spy one of the signs that a doughnut shop exists, my heart skips a beat. 98% of the time, I can ignore the cravings and desires, knowing all full well that disappointment usually lies within. These mom-and-pop doughnut shops are an interesting ilk. More often than not, they are run by an ethnic minority (Cambodian, Laotian, or other South East Asian tribe). (more…)

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

It was pretty funny; Lisa and I were sitting at the bar at Baker & Banker, chatting with an affable server named David, deciding on the dinner choices. The desirability (or not) of a dessert will dictate whether we are sharing variations of starters and entrées. Do we share two starters and two entrées? Three starters and one entrée?  And whilst perusing the menu — and not realizing the dessert menu was printed on the back — I began to inquire about the availability of a fried dough delicacy (because I always try and check, just to make sure).  Before I finished my sentence, David suggested we save room for their specialty dessert, PB&J Doughnuts; strawberry jam-filled goodies with peanut butter dipping sauce. Knowing smiles grow between Lisa and me — she knows me so well and knows how happy this makes me — to have such serendipity.

Our diner completed, David advised us that the doughnuts are normally served in threes and would we like four on our order since we were sharing. Trying to watch the ever-growing waistline, three should be more than enough, thanks. The elongated plate arrived with perfectly round globes of wonder. Warm and crunchy, this was Jelly Doughnut Nirvana with warm, house-made strawberry jam filling oozing out with the first bite (a rarity!). So often with a jelly doughnut, one must eat through a third or a half of the doughnut before the jelly appears. Encrusted with granulated sugar, we took our first bites naked, without the dipping sauce and with that first unctuous fruit hitting our taste buds, smiles and groans were immediately emitted.

The cake structure was light and spongy with a superb amount of tooth to the crunchy exterior. The dipping sauce was made of three simple ingredients; peanut butter, cream, and powdered sugar. The doughnut-alone-bite was perfectly lovely, but laden with the creamy sauce, one is transported back to childhood with a primal memory of wholesome goodness which has been elevated to elegance while still maintaining that sense of familial comfort.

The biggest problem for me is that these are available to me within walking distance and I could see a serious addiction burgeoning.

1701 Octavia St
(between Bush St & Austin St)
San Francisco, CA 94109
Neighborhoods: Pacific Heights, Lower Pac Heights, Japantown
(415) 351-2500