I'm Afraid Of What I Would Do For A Dough Doughnut

Dashing out of bed on a weekend morning almost never happens. Only truly important things can make me want to unwrap myself from my comforter cocoon.

I had set my sights on dough doughnuts since my first visit to Bed-Stuy--apartment hunting--and this weekend became my target. So, getting out of bed was surprisingly easy. And instead of lumbering around the apartment mechanically getting ready, I dressed with agility and practically skipped down the sunny avenue toward Dough. 

Good job, self. So worth it. 

The smell of fresh baked goods hit me, and the line out the door didn't matter anymore.

As I was bringing home a half dozen for my roommates and friends, I knew I would need something to tide myself over. I bit into the Nutella stuffed mini-doughnut, and the pocket of Nutella burst into my mouth. Not too sugary, perfectly fresh, and squishibly soft, this mini-treat was a happy indicator of the joys to come.

Dough doughnuts fill you. One doughnut is bigger, heavier, and more generously topped than any mainstream doughnut I've seen on the market. As you sink your teeth in, the dough scrunches down from top to bottom before slowly rising back up again (unlike a Krispy Kreme, which is so airy it never rebounds; and unlike a Dunkin, which is often too stale to have any give in the first bite).

I ordered the salted chocolate caramel. This chocolate layer coated the doughnut in a fine layer of rich cocoa--it didn't lay lifeless and stiff like an icing, or plastered to the bread like a glaze. The Toasted Coconut and Sugar doughnuts each lived up to high standards, too.

Dunkin Donuts has bastardized the doughnut, twisting Americans' perception of what one should taste, look, and smell like. It brings me hope that little shops like Dough are popping up to correct the wrong.

**Side Note--My roommate brought home a custard stuffed Jolly Doughnut from Sandusky, Ohio not too long ago. After a cross-country commute to the Big Apple, it arrived smushed and disfigured. This doughnut was dense and heavy as a brick. It was also the best doughnut I've eaten to date. 

Mominette's Burger In Bushwick Hit The Spot

Mominette - Bushwick
221 Knickerbocker Ave., Brooklyn, NY

Bound by Birthday law to meet a friend at a bar in Bushwick and famished by 9 p.m., I hunted for the closest place for take-out. Post-work plans had delayed dinner, and the birthday bar served no food. It was raining. I wanted to hurry back to the festivities. But then I found an optimist option just a block from the birthday festivities.

Once inside Mominette, however, I decided to just stay and eat before walking back down the block to the birthday celebration--engaged right away by a talkative bar tender and drawn in by the French bistro atmosphere.

Tempted by the duck hash confit, I opted for the burger after the bartender's note that it contains more food. Mominette serves a no muss, no fuss burger served on a wooden slab next to a lightly-dressed kale salad. Aside from the knife piercing through the top, the burger comes unadorned, allowing the meal to stand on its merits. One bite into a pink center revealed that the patty was prepared exactly the way I asked for it. It was juicy but didn't fall apart. The one fault I would take with the meal was a lack of crisp on the thin fries. However, the restaurant felt like a fortuitous oasis in a relatively sparse area of Brooklyn.

Next time I want to try that duck hash confit. However, the bartender mentioned opening the back garden for the summer, hiring a shucker, and selling dollar oysters in the sun. If that comes to pass, the hash may have to wait. 

The All-You-Can-Drink Brunch at Stecchino May or May Not Be Worth The Food

Stecchino - Hell's Kitchen
765 9th Ave. (Btw 51st and 52nd), Manhattan, NY

Not bad, but not worth it.

That was my take-away from Stecchino's all-you-can-drink brunch.

The most exciting thing that happened was being engaged by a lovely (at least semi-drunk) Canadian couple with whom we chatted for 20 minutes, discussing New York's culinary and theatrical delights and Toronto's cartoon of a Mayor.

An over-peppered, washed out Bloody Mary sparked a food debate that began with Clamato, clam-tomato juice Canadians mix into a punchier Bloody Mary, and ended with the relative merits of poutine, the gravy-slathered french fries of the Great White North. (We were all in agreement that Americans do Bloody Mary's an injustice by not using Clamato. But there was a sharp debate on poutine: one female American agreed with one anti-gravy male Canadian that fries and ketchup belong together, and one male American staunchly vouched for the female Canadian in a pro-gravy stance.)

Stecchino took a back seat to all this excitement. Though I had procured a deal--all-you-can-drink brunch for two for a total of $30--that beat the menu price by $5 per person, once I added in the tax and pre-calculated, mandatory tip, the $50 bill just didn't seem worth it. The best part of my Mexican omelet was the candied bacon, which fell short of expectations, followed by the small, decorative salad. (The omelet itself scratched the surface of mediocrity). The Canadian woman beside me didn't have such nice things to say about her salmon burger, which she traded to her more willing husband. He seemed to enjoy it, and the woman was much happier after she made the trade.

If you're planning on merrily drinking yourself under the table for $20, this is a nice atmosphere in which to do it. The drinks aren't bad. Just one Bellini (served in a tank of a wineglass glass rather than svelte Champlain stemware) was enough to make me fall asleep at the planetarium, so there was really no need to "get my money's worth" on the drinks side of the equation. I'd much rather eat well. Though, I realize others have a different Sunday brunch agenda. So, if you're going to order at least two drinks elsewhere, maybe the mediocre food merits the $20 price tag for bottomless booze.