There is a sweets man around town and his name is Jacques Torres, MOF. He has a not-so-little chocolate shop down the street from our office in dumbo, and an ice cream shop next door. Hannah, Kathleen and I have been here on more than one occasion. We work hard and we do so on ice cream.
My first time, Hannah and I snuck out rather surreptitiously to get Kathleen a big sundae because she had to deal with the logistics of new-apartment-searching in addition to her usual bajillion projects on the go. We got her salted caramel, spicy chocolate, and hot fudge sauce. It was hyper-karmically good. I think that helped things a little. We all sat down at our beautiful white wooden table in the office for a mid-afternoon break.
I opted for black currant sorbet and port ice cream.
The black currant sorbet was delightfully tart and deep, mysterious yet playful in the way only black currants can be. The port was both sweet and slightly bitter, and melded with the rich creaminess better than one might have thought. Hannah among them, it seemed, for she said it tasted like Manischewitz (maybe that wasn’t a bad thing?).
The second time was with Christiane too. We had all enjoyed our lunch outside together in Brooklyn Bridge Park, the two bridges shelving our vantage of the city with diverging perspectival rays. It was sunny and hot. Mango became a favourite. I indulged in a delectable, non-cloying coconut, and a chocolate-Guinness flavour that was delicious enough – but honestly, they should have kept pouring out the stout.
The star of the show, however, is likely their chocolate chip cookie. I believe it is entangled in an eternal struggle for NYC choco-chip dominion with that uptown debutante Levain: thick, crispy, and barely baked inside. But only so I hear. That one will have to wait for one day more. But this cookie, it’s safe to say, can definitely give any other a run for its money. Perfectly proportioned in its thickness and diameter, it sports thin layers of chocolate that melt in between the dough, creating striations of chocolate goodness that develop a mouthfeel more detailed and unified than any merely ‘chipped’ cookie could even hope for. They also keep them warming on a griddle, perpetually ready to impart their melty, oozy decadence to unsuspecting fingers as soon as they are bought, and, it should be known, for a considerable while after.
If only I could have gotten a cross-section of this one.