The Fried Dough Ho

It is true that there are a number of places I could choose to experience a churro; Disneyland, any number of street festivals, or even the occasional mall kiosk. But I was headed to Los Angeles anyway and what better place is there for the quintessential tube of Mexican fried dough than Olvera Street? This historical village consists of a small marketplace, restaurants, and strolling musicians. One of America’s oldest landmarks, some buildings within Olvera Street, date back to the 1780s.  Wandering the plaza, visitors are subjected to an expanse of color in the bouganvilla-dripping pueblos, the bright fiesta colors painted on maracas and sombreros, and the aromas of spicy frijoles or chips and salsa waft through the air.

A distant mariachi band’s high-pitched wail rang in my ears as I searched out Mr. Churros. Tucked in a small alcove, off the main drag, lied the rather dingy, unremarkable room. To my immediate left I could witness the production area; the extruder through which the magical wands of dough were passed, the deep fryer, and the large tray of cinnamon-sugar. As you walk in, why lies directly in front is a service counter with ice cream selections (ice cream? What for?), the cash register, and a selection of ready-made, already sugared treats. I asked to have mine freshly dipped and the the guy behind the counter was more than amenable in granting my request.

He asked if I wanted mine filled and we chatted for a bit. “What is traditional?” I queried. In Mexico, he informed, the Dulce de Leche is the most popular, but they also offer custard or strawberry. I wanted to taste pure, unadulterated dough, but he gladly obliged a small taste of his favorite, the Dulce de Leche as a dipping sauce. Not exactly traditional to not have it filled within the hexagonal spear of sweetness, but it did allow me a taste of the richly sweet sauce.

The churro on its own was quite good; firm to the tooth with a nice crunchy exterior with most of its hollow interior rimmed with a bit of tender sweet dough. The two-foot tube of dough had a nice flavor although it was a bit too sweet for me, with the Dulce de Leche providing an even more substantial tooth-achingly painful experience. An entire churro filled with Ducle de Leche would have been far too sweet for me and considering I had already eaten a malasada and four other gourmet doughnuts that morning, it should be no surprise that I only indulged a bite or two of this tasting. In retrospect, it was not the most memorable fried dough of my extensive Los Angeles excursion, but rather blasé in comparison.

Nickel Diner in downtown Los Angeles is now legendary. But in a way, I can say I knew about it when it was just a glimmer in one of its owners’, Monica May’s, eyes. Monica and I frequented the same foodie chat list when she started talking about the renovation of the location and the fight to bring wholesome, home cooking to a derelict neighborhood more known for its homeless and crack addicts. In two short years, she and her partner, Kristen, have been instrumental in changing the neighborhood.

After my excessive fried dough excursion the night before, I thought I wouldn’t be up for another heavy round, but the reputation of Nickel Diner’s doughnuts prevailed and I knew there was no way I was leaving without trying every available flavor. We also ordered some savory cuisine as well, as reported on Feast. The Nutella and the Orange Popcycle were sold out when we arrived, but I was more than thrilled with the four flavors which were available.

The most lauded and talked about seems to be their Maple Bacon Doughnut. Easily the best Bacon Fried Dough to date, far surpassing Voodoo’s and Frances bacon beignets, Nickel’s offering has a tight, rich crumb of a ring, topped with Applewood-smoked bacon bits which have been delicately suspended in a lightly authentic, not overpowering maple glaze. In speaking with Monica, she confirmed a suspicion that the bacon was fried to the point where absolutely no uncooked fat is left, assuring maximum crunch factor of this savory component. And the bacon bits were fully laden across the top of the plate-sized fried dough goodness; rich and satisfying with a great balance between the salt of the bacon and the sweetness in the glaze, without being overhwhelming in any one of its ingredients.

The oddity of the four doughnuts we consumed was the Strawberry Crunch. This simple, plain cake doughnut is heavily and decadently coated with tiny bits of freeze-dried strawberry bits. Upon first bite – without remembering exactly what our waitress told us its flavor – we were tasting the pungent, tanginess which hearkened to fresh citrus. It was only later, after we confirmed its flavor, did we realize exactly what flavor it really was. While trying to recall its flavor before knowing, one in the party reminisced back to Trix cereal and the crispy, almost concentrated flavor. It makes sense, though. Freeze drying the fresh strawberries would concentrate those flavors, producing forth a bright, tangy and envigorating flavor.

When we arrived at the diner, I saw a young boy consuming the Red Velvet Doughnut and I knew I had to have one of those. Differing from the classic Red Velvet cake in that the actual cake of the doughnut was plain and the Red Velvet flavor was a crumble topping which completely encased the rich doughnut, then split and filled with cream cheese whipped filling. I am still trying to decipher exactly what ingredients would have been combined to create that classic Red Velvet taste; a bit of cocoa and vinegar, yes. But the slight tang of cream cheese played off the delicate crumble to incite childhood memories of the classically moist and playful Red Velvet Chocolate Cake. As attested by the photos, it was hard to not stick our fingers in the filling.

The piece de resistance, however, was a new creation not yet on the t-shirt (which I acquired, of course), or the menu; an Irish Car Bomb doughnut with Guinness crumble and Jameson-infused cream filing. Had I thought the previous, unctuous presentations were exceptional, in this we had a show-stopper, Hall of Fame doughnut. Rich without being cloying, the Guinness crunch was at first undiscernable exactly what flavor profile it was profiling; sweet, yes – but with umami and a touch of earthiness. In this creation, we were experiencing doughnut perfection known only a few times before, most memorably at The French Laundry. Yes, ladies and gentleman, for doughnut nirvana in the Los Angeles area, it does not get any better than Nickel Diner and the creation of the Irish Car Bomb doughnut goes beyond inspiration to the level of epiphany. Without kitsch or the gimmick of a children’s cereal topping, a truly exceptional taste has been created and while one might expect to experience such flavors in a cupcake or a plated dessert, it is brought forth in the form of the humble doughnut; elevating the doughnut beyond the realm of mere breakfast pastry and into a religious experience.

One of the recurring suggestions for fried dough in Southern California — which is harder-to-find in the Bay Area — is malasadas. Although originally from Portugal, the malasadas seems to have proliferated in Hawaii. As with many fried doughs, their genesis began immediately before Lent and was a reason to use up all the pantry-stored sugar and lard, items which which have been verboten during Lent.

King’s Hawaiian is well-known all over the country for its sweet bread, a fluffy creation made with pineapple juice which is well-suited to the likes of French toast over a roast beef sandwich. King’s Hawaiian bakery is based out of Gardena although they have a full-blown restaurant in Torrance and a smaller to-go, fast-food restaurant next to their plant in Gardena. When I lived in the area, I admit that I never ate at the restaurant. Something about Kahlua-pork nachos just didn’t seem right to me.

However, considering the lack of Portuguese and Hawaiian establishments in Northern California, I knew this was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up so early one morning, I headed out in search of the illusive malasada. My host recommended that The Local Place, the to-go restaurant near the manufacturing plant would be easier and closer to my next destination in downtown Los Angeles. I called ahead of time to make sure they had the desired confection as I headed forth. It was barely 8:30 in the morning on a Saturday only to have my hopes dashed that by the time arrived at 9:00 a.m., they were completely sold out.

Not deterred and with a little time before breakfast was slated, I drove pel-mel to the Torrance restaurant, fingers crossed. With a much more expansive bakery than the smaller satellite establishment, the King’s Hawaiian restaurant’s bakery not only has the much-desired malasada, but a full selection of their bread products, cakes and pies, and a large selection of regular doughnuts. The malasada was the object of my desire and even there, I had a decision to make; plain, chocolate-filled, or fruit-filled. I asked the girl behind the counter what her favorite was and she suggested that the chocolate-filled was traditional for Hawaiians, known as Dobash Malasadas.

Dusted in granulated sugar and the size of a large croquet ball, I found the dough texture of King’s Hawaiian malasada to be very light and fresh. It was easy to get caught up in the airy texture of the delicate crumb. The chocolate pudding filling, however, was less spectacular and I think I would have preferred a plain, unfilled version. For mass-produced chocolate pudding, it really wasn’t that bad, truthfully. So often it can be grainy or pasty and here it was extremely creamy and rich. It just had the faint hint of the synthetic mix from which I know it comes. But I give King’s Hawaiian tremendous points for the incredible freshness of their fried dough offering.

The culmination of my first night of the fried dough extravaganza in Southern California culminated at Gambrinus restaurant on the boardwalk near the Redondo Beach Pier. It seems oddly ironic that I keep returning to a place where I lived for so many years to truly amazing food for when I lived in Redondo, I was usually traveling outside the city for better dining experiences. This proved to be quite a special evening. After a multitude of empanadas from Argentina, Colombia, El Salvador, and Malaysia, our last stop for the evening was to be a departure from those versions of fried dough which predominated from warmer locales for Gambrinus’ cuisine was Russian.

We finally strayed away from the purely fried dough constraint and along with the experimental portion of the meal, ordered a Shuba salad, a traditional Russian salad with layers of pickled herring filets, potatoes, beets, carrots, chopped eggs and mayonnaise one on top of the other. Shuba apparently means “in a fur coat” and the grated egg which topped the offering did give it a furry appearance. Considering the amount of heavy, carb-laden delicacies we had consumed, it was a welcome respite with its clean, crisp flavors of beet and vinegary fish. The mayonnaise was not overpowering and the bit of egg brought just enough richness to counter the heavy food we had been consuming.

But we had already ordered more! It was admittedly a bit of a shock for me. Up until this point, all of the variations of fried dough that we had ordered had been appetizer portions; empanadas and fried puffs of nothing much larger than 2″ or 3″ but what was presented to us as entrées were sizeable portions that almost overwhelmed me! The belashi (apparently also known as belyashi) reminded me of a curling stone in shape and size; round, robust, and heavy. This golden wonder was easily 6″ or 7″ across and 3″ to 4″ high, stuffed with a rich concoction of well-season ground pork and was made with a decidedly thick dough; thicker than I really wanted. While the exterior portion of the dough was rich and tasty, the interior was more spongy than I wanted. I greatly enjoyed the dark, heady filling though and was a bit surprised by the small container of red sauce that was served alongside. Tasting a bit, Mr. R confirmed it was spicy Thai condiment that the owners served because “Americans want spicy things.” Not that the belashi was bland, but most Russian dishes are more muted in their tastes with the contrast provided by the accompanying pickled vegetables or pickled fish.

The other monstrously huge hunk of fried dough was a chebureki, which is more of a Georgian/Latvian dish than Russian (the owners of Gambrinus are from Latvia). Shaped in the empanada-like half moon, the chebureki spilled off the 8″ plate in all its flattened, crisp glory. Also filled with pork but with an entirely different flavor structure than the belashi. Here the meat flavors were more prevalent as the dough casing was thinner and less predominant, but also, this was so juicy that biting into the giant meat pie literally exuded (all over me), heady chunks of white pork with broth. I had to hold the dripping, succulent pie in a napkin and was both sorry I had eaten so much already but so happy at the confluence of flavors.

One other fried dough delicacy was on the menu which I had almost missed but going overboard as we were doing, had to be ordered and tried. Listed on their menu simply as “Garlic Bread,” this dish truly had one of those eyes-rolling-into-the-back-of-my-head experiences. The very same thin, half-slices of meager classic Russian brown bread – hearty and a favorite of mine with salmon – here was drenched with pure butter and garlic and then, with no additional breading, deep-fried and served warmed. So redolent and pungent with garlic and the richness of the butter shining through, I feel it is impossible to describe the impact that such pure, simple ingredients — so untraditionally prepared — can have. This simple offering of garlic fried bread will go down in the annals of one of the finest examples of unexpected genius and will be included in my Top Five of all favored fried doughs of all time. Now, a week later when writing this, I can still taste and crave it. So shockingly good.

I have to admit that I know nothing about Malaysian food and going to a restaurant for only one aspect of a particular ethnic cuisine, is probably not the best representational situation for learning. But I was on a whirlwind tour of discovering and experimenting with multiple fried dough offerings. And as far as I have able to determine thus far, most historical and ethnic cuisines have some form of fried dough within their pantheon of culinary offerings. And thanks to my incredibly knowledgeable and resourceful friend, we stopped at Belacan Grill on the off-hand chance that this unknown cuisine which could include Malay, Indian, Eurasian, Chinese and Nyonya foods.

I was anticipating heavenly aromatic dishes — obviously well-spiced — and by and large, I was not disappointed.  We asked specifically which items were fried as we didn’t want to fill up on unnecessary courses and were directed towards two offerings from their appetizer menu; Roti Canai, a flat bread, and Curry Puffs. Technically, the flat bread was grilled and not deep-fried, but therein lies my slippery slope for it was obviously pan-fried and in so much butter as to be riding that fine line of griddled versus fried. Very flaky and rich from the butter, the warm roti canai was served with a side of thin, chicken broth-based spicy sauce – more like a red curry soup. The texture was soft and fluffy, happily consumed on its own although enhanced with the spicy condiment.

Three-inch long curry puffs were shaped in the half-round, empanada-like moon shapes we had been consuming all evening long. The pastry for the casing was so flaky as to begin to split apart under the influence of the hot frying oil. Not too thick to overwhelm the flavor of the stuffing which was considerably more spicy than the flat bread sauce. Here, savory potatoes dominated the contents but with bits of chicken meat coupled with redolent heat of a spice that kept going. This was just a little beyond my normal spice threshold, but I quickly adapted. Our biggest complaint was the fact that the oil in which these puffs were fried was obviously a bit on the old, burnt side of acceptable. The puffs themselves were not burned, but a detectable rankness prevailed. I have no doubt that someone just going to the restaurant for a single meal and ordering multiple other dishes would probably not notice, but considering this was the fifth different experience that evening, we were becoming that much more aware of oil qualities in the preparation of these dishes. It is a minor complaint, but a distraction nonetheless.

2701 190th St., Ste 100
Redondo Beach, CA 90278
(310) 370-1831