August Sundays. The mornings start, midday hours into a slow thrum.
Huevos Ahogados: eggs poached in salsa verde. And I’m not the keenest on mexican food, but this one, this is a keeper.
runny yolks, fresh herbs, and avocado. what, my friend, is not to love.
We venture out, the humming brightness. Tschumi graces the view.
We are lower than low. Dora is on the list.
Surprising, tucked away, and a really incredible cup. Roasted hazelnuts, lettuce milk, black mustard, toasted oats, a bit of acorn. Aromatic, not too bitter nor too sour. balanced and aromatic, and interesting. And look at that gorgeous sheen.
Plus, they have animals.
A veritable ark.
Plus, they have books. Lots and lots of books. And lots of food books.
My favourites were: “Encyclopaedia of Herbs, Spices, and Flavourings”, “Creative Food Experiences for Children”, and for fun, “Fanny at Chez Panisse”. I was pretty content.
Plus, they serve cascara. That’s gotta be a first I think, even for new york city.
On to The Doughnut Plant, the fabled les mecca of inspiredly-flavoured fried dough goodness.
Doughnuts on doughnuts? Someone was thinking.
Four between two? Not gluttonous, no. Highly prudent.
Blueberry, Valrhona chocolate, carrot cake, and crème brûlée.
All noteworthy, but my favourite by far was the last.
Vanilla custard-filled doughnut with a carmelised sugar crust? You have got to be joking.
Clearly they practice some sort of divine association. Krishna, be my homeboy.
Lost in layers of doughnut.
*Sadly, it appears Dora is now closed.