The Fried Dough Ho

It was an odd night at Yoshi’s in San Franciso. I was actually hanging out in the lobby area, selling jewelry in an attempt by ArtNowSF to host an evening of art and music. Sadly, most of the people arriving at the jazz music venue that evening were more interested in whomever was performing that evening than my jewelry, the amazing glassblowers, the guerrilla t-shirt designers and graffiti artists. We artists sat there, occasionally peddling a trinket here or a bauble there, but mostly we were left to our own devices.

Fortunately, the waitstaff were pretty accommodating in providing service and after a brief chat with the chef, I was quickly satisfied with a really incredible lobster salad. I had read about a warm doughnut through Michael Bauer’s review on SFGate. He was fairly enthusiastic about them and for a professional critic to specifically name a fried dough as worthy, made it that much more intriguing for me.

And while they were enjoyable, I am not sure they are quite as superlative as Bauer seemed to think. What he said was, “Her warm doughnuts – better than fresh-out-of-the-oven Krispy Kremes – are served with a creamy whiskey sauce.” It is no surprise that I don’t particularly think that Krispy Kremes — fresh-out-of-the-oven or otherwise — are especially noteworthy, so that might have been him just filling fodder in his column space. And mine were not served with a creamy whiskey sauce, but a coffee-flavored sauce that showed no hint of alcohol. And there was a separate shot glass of strawberry sauce with a chocolate-covered Pocky stick there for — well, it was there for something; I’m not quite sure what.

The powdered-sugar-dusted pillows were fluffy and warm, but I also found then surprisingly dense and leaden. I am very curious as to what sort of batter or dough was used for the confection. They weren’t bad, necessarily, but just heavier than I anticipated. If a fried dough is going to be cakey, than it should be rich and tender and these were not. The rumor is that they no longer exist on the menu and perhaps that is a good thing.

I haven’t done a full review of Randy’s Donuts in Los Angeles yet. Believe me, I will. I have a LOT to say about this Southern California institution and will undoubtedly refer to it often. I lived in Southern California for almost a dozen years and to this day, their Apple Fritter is the benchmark against which all others are judged. But that is a footnote about their actual product. Today’s post is about the architectural landmark which has become such an iconic symbol in so many movies, most recently, Iron Man 2.

All things considered, it is pretty cool to me that the main character of Tony Stark, despite his superhuman suit, still maintains the same basic needs and desires that we all have after an insane night — the ubiquitous morning-after craving for sugar. In Los Angeles, there is no better location than Randy’s; well, technically in Inglewood. Randy’s Donuts has the advantage of lying directly off the 405 Freeway, en route to LAX Airport. It is open 24 hours and when I fly to Los Angeles, it is usually my last stop before I fly home (it is expected that I will always bring home samples).

The building dates back to 1952 and is clearly earmarked with a giant, two-story donut replica which sits on top of the tiny structure in which all the goodies are prepared. In Iron Man 2, Robert Downey, Jr.’s character, Tony Stark actually sits inside the name branded, inedible glazed edifice. That’s pretty darn cool. The viewers get the classic juxtaposition of a sixty-year-old landmark, hearkening back to a golden age of Hollywood with the action-packed, futuristic cockiness and breathlessly exciting, tongue-in-cheek frivolity.

Iron Man2 is certainly not the only time Randy’s Donuts have been showcased in a film. Last year, in the film 2012, John Cusack’s character, Jackson Curtis ran the gauntlet of world destruction, highlighted by the famous sphere rolling in a cataclysmic path. There was something delightful in seeing everything in and around Los Angeles being completely demolished, but somehow this giant donut rolled, unscathed, to some form of eternal safety. At least that is what I would like to believe and that’s the story I’m sticking to…

Most of my close friends know all too well that I am a dyed-in-the-[sheep’s]-wool Anglophile. There isn’t much about England I don’t adore; from its quirky sense of humour (yes, I will spell it with a “u” thankyouverymuch) to its antiquated sense of self-worth. I love the history, the people, and the rain. A man with a British accent could have me at Ay-up. Although I don’t smoke, I am charmed that a cigarette is a fag, that bloody seems more dignified than fuck, and a numerical zero is zed. I used to drive British cars and still worship the dark lord, Lucas. I will drink a Guinness any day of the week over any American-made brew and actually crave toad-in-the-hole.

So it should come as no surprise that the Mother Country of my Bosom has a National Doughnut Week. Not just a DAY, mind you! They devote a whole bloody week to my beloved culinary obsession. It is all done to support The Children’s Trust, a charity devoted to helping children with multiple disabilities.  From May 8th through May 15th, bakers all over the British isles are donating proceeds from their doughnut sales for the charity. So, in your best Queen’s English, sing Hail Brittania at the top of your lungs and buy a doughnut! You’ll be brilliant!

I have to confess I have never watched The Simpsons. Well, my friend Chi-Chi Maldonado once insisted I watch an episode about that showcased Patrick Stewart as a Stonecutter (read: Mason) because it was a parody on Secret Societies, of which we were members. Come to think of it, Chi-Chi also directed me to an episode where some character who never speaks breaks her silence to explain the philosophy of Ayn Rand. Lots and lots of friends have assured me that I would appreciate the layered, intellectual humor in it but I think it was the legions of adolescent boys who took on guttural grunt of “Doh!” which really started to get to me.

So I’ve mostly ignored The Simpsons, despite its longevity and staying power on television. I have ignored it until now. Maybe it is time for me to backtrack to the beginning of the series and start watching every episode from the beginning. Because this little ditty I am offering today is about Homer’s doughnut addiction and how that addiction confines him to hell.

Some of the interesting points that exist within these two-and-a-half minutes, is the fact that the Devil appears very similar in shape and materialization to that demon which appears in Disney’s Night on Bald Mountain. In Beezlebub’s human form, he still maintains the cloven hooves of a satyr. Striking for me was the fiery hole that opens in the kitchen, after Homer has consumed the final crumb of the “forbidden donut.” As a child, my nightmares of hell was exactly that type of gaping, fiery hole with a centrifugal force that would draw me in. The mere fact that Homer’s torments are subjected by the Ironic Punishment Division is barely ironic but I especially like the final comment that James Coco went mad after fifteen minutes of Homer’s treatment.

If you don’t know, James Coco was a character known in the 1970s. He was rotund in stature and one of my favorite roles that he played was in the spoof, Murder By Death. He parodied the Belgian sleuth Hercule Poirot, penned by Agatha Christie. In the movie, James Coco’s character throws a volley of subtle food jokes. And from his IMDB biography, “In his last years, Coco received attention for his culinary talents and best-selling cookbooks. The James Coco Diet, an educational book which included chapters on menu planning and behavior modification as well as choice recipes), was just one that he promoted on the talk show circuit. It is probably not a coincidence that he often played characters with extreme food issues. Suffering from obesity (5’10”, 250 lbs.) for most his adult life, the talented actor died unexpectedly of a heart attack in New York City in 1987 at the age of 56, and was buried in St. Gertrude’s Roman Catholic Cemetery in Colonia, New Jersey.”

The Ferry Plaza is a bit of a food mecca to die-hard foodies. There are dozens of stores offering any form of culinary delight, from meats to mushrooms, from macarons to Malbec.  I Preferiti di Boriana is one of the specialty stores offering a variety of products but truthfully, I don’t know what else they sell — I only go there for the Bombolini.

My BFF (Best Foodie Friend), Lisa, joined with me on the stunningly Spring day — which helps considerably so that I can taste more than one flavor without being too gluttonous. And she and I were completely in sync in wanting to taste the Raspberry filled and the Custard.

The wonders of this offering lies in its light cake which is tender and airy. Dusted in granulated sugar, there is no greasy sensation whatsoever and the cake is substantial enough to stand up to the fillings. Of the two, I was surprised that I enjoyed the creamy custard, moreso than the raspberry. It does not taste remotely synthetic or mass-produced, like so many custards. It is not overly sweet and the richness of the egg is definite.

The raspberry jam, is also very good, but somehow the extra sweetness of the jam, combined with the sweetness of the sugar on the exterior makes it that much more overpowering in sweet, while the custard mutes that sweetness.

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