The Fried Dough Ho

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

The Los Angeles adventure of discovering fried dough continued after sampling both a baked Argentine version and a Colombian empanada with a fried corn exterior. We arrived at Merlos and like our previous visits to other small, ethnic restaurants in the neighborhood, was surprised at the lack of customers considering it was a Friday night. During our brief visit, we did witness several customers come in a pick-up large to-go orders so I assume — and hope — the restaurant thrives on its local community for take-out.

Along with a savory, beef-stuffed empanada, we spied on the menu an empanada con leche a seemingly sweet version which we found worthy of the experiment. While the Colombian empanada was encased in the crispy, corn-based masa here the offering from El Salvador is a wheat-based pocket of fried goodness with the hearty filling meatier and more robust. Along with beef, we could detect carrots, potatoes, onions and was advised that additional seasonings include bell pepper and achiote. The exterior crust was delightfully crispy with no hint of greasiness. Served alongside was a light slaw intensely reminiscent of Japanese tsukemono; finely chopped cabbage simply dressed with slightly sweetened white vinegar. It is hard to not compare the Colombian empanada with the Salvadorean one. While the Colombian empanada’s filling was finely puréed and more subtle in its seasonings, the empanada from El Salvador had more coarsely chopped filling ingredients which made the flavors more defined and interesting.

The sweet empanada con leche — which technically could be defined as a stuffed bread or pastry — proved to be a bit of a misnomer as a fried dough, although we didn’t know it until it arrived. Not an actual dough, this was a hollowed-out plantain which had been filled with a vanilla pudding and fried. The moisture from the banana made this fried offering not as crunchy as one might like, but both my friend and I were pleasantly surprised at the simplicity of the ingredients being not too overtly sweet and quite engaging. It would have been very easy to make this teeth-achingly sweet but the simple vanilla pudding did not overpower the sweetness of the banana. Nor did the richness of the banana overwhelm the sugars in the pudding. The combination reminded me of a classic banana cream pie without the crust or meringue.

2401 Marine Ave
Gardena, CA 90247
(310) 516-7800

Immediately after tasting the thick, heavy, baked Argentine emapana, my friend took me the real fried version at a local Colombian restaurant, Mi Ama. Like El Gaucho only a few blocks away, Mi Ama was also located in a little strip mall, tucked back in a corner in between a taqueria and a hair salon. Easy to miss, if you don’t know exactly where it is.

Brightly decorated and engaging, but sadly empty for a Friday evening, we had the run of the place as well as the complete attention of the waitress, Loli, who was more than gracious in helping me learn about Colombian empanadas. We ordered some juices; guanabana with milk and maracuyá – passion fruit – which were a bit more filling than I wanted but incredibly tasty. The white board menu was calling to me with too many additional items, both Comida Colombian and Comida Peruvian, but we were on a mission and that mission was fried dough.

Made with an imported corn masa, these empanadas were approximately 2 1/2 inches long and stuffed with a combination of mashed potato, beef, and onion, mashed into a purée. Made with a cornmeal crust and seasoned with cumin and annatto, the resulting fried empanada proved to be rich and flavorful although I found the fine grind of the interior to mute the meat flavors, instead of emphasize them.

While the Argentine empanadas are served with a finely-cut vinegary chimichurri sauce of vinegar, parsley and red pepper, the Colombian accompaniment was a chunkier salsa offering that included scallions and more cilantro than I care for. Here sliced limes were also provided to give the acidic component to cut through the grease of the frying, but I didn’t necessarily find it necessary. Loli was very sweet to bring out a container of the filling so we could see how it was prepared as well as the Bijol powder they use for the seasoning and for the anchiote component.