The Fried Dough Ho

No, this post isn’t about any form of fried dough, but a specialty fruit that appear briefly each summer, the Donut Peach. I am considering this a sort of Trompe l’Oeil doughnut for looking at it, there is no doubt the mind immediately goes to the more fattening, unhealthy version. A little research has discovered that with the heightened awareness of heirloom fruits and vegetables, this is not actually a new variety of peach at all, but had been grown in the States as early as the 1800’s. Originally from China, it probably lost its allure because its flesh is not the bright yellow of classic peaches and also perhaps its shape.

Long before it was known as the Donut Peach — undoubtedly because of its flattened shape with the ubiquitous hollow in the center so indicative of those raised and cake varieties we love so much — this odd fruit was known as Chinese flat peaches, Chinese sauces peaches, peento peach, or Galaxy or Saturn peach (because it alludes to a 1950s U.F.O. shape and/or the rings of our sixth planet?) Now more commonly referred to as the Donut Peach, California and Washington are the primary locales for its growth and farming.

As an artist, I am drawn to their two-toned, mottled color – pale yellow splotched with alluring splashes of blushing crimson at once, demure but at second glance, teasing and sultry. Granted, there is not as much flesh so cooking with donut peaches would take a few more if quantity is needed – and they are a bit more expensive. But on the upside, they are lower in acid than the classic peach with a more mild, sweeter taste and some have ascribed almond overtones to them. They are a little easier to eat and the skin tends to be a bit thinner with less fuzz so some who are inclined to peel peaches might enjoy these varieties more. I have also found them much easier to pit; a quick slice through the flesh with a knife and the two halves can be twisted apart with the pit almost falling free, leaving just unctuous bites of decadent fruit easy to consume.

No, what you are looking at are not actual doughnuts. They are part of the rising culture of the doughnut obsessed. And they come from Japan. These little biscuits are about the size of a half-dollar. Light and crunchy, they are slightly sweet and studded with black sesame seeds, giving them a darker, more subtle flavor. The texture are light and addictive; almost cookie-light without being cloying.

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The Donut Hole in La Puente is definitely one of those establishments that one goes out of their way to find. Not necessarily for the doughnuts — although they were very good — but because it is one of the more impressive examples of offbeat, roadside architecture. Up until now, I had only been experiencing those roadside attractions where the giant doughnut sits atop the small stand. And while these other stands offer drive-up capabilities for the automobile-bound, The Donut Hole is unique for being able to drive through two giant brown doughnuts, half-submerged in concrete.

A little research revealed that this building was one of five in a chain, constructed in 1968 with the two end-caps made from fiberglass and measuring 26 feet high. Unfortunately, the other four no longer exist. When you drive into the back doughnut, you can see the production equipment on the right-hand side of the structure; large fryers and ovens. The left-hand side is the shop with its racks of overly large offerings. I liked the drive-through aspect of the adventure and I was intrigued by both the size and variety of the selection.

Considering I had already consumed a malasada, a churro, and four gourmet doughnuts that morning, I was not quite up for a full tasting but instead relied on my tried-and-true test, the apple fritter. Just to check their raised, I also picked up a single doughnut hole as well. The fritter was quite good, large and uniformly thick/flat without the doughy pillow in the center. Not quite a crunchy or dark as I prefer, but with a nice toothy exterior and tender interior. The doughnut hole was light and fluffy with no hint of oil. I wish I had been hungrier to try others. Not quite an easy stop off a freeway exit, but worth a visit if you are in the area.

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.