Photo courtesy of Serious Eats
Thank God New York will still be cold for another few weeks. I need to hide in my cozy sweaters a bit longer and plot atonement for a recent baked goods overload that has left me feeling like the only “clothes” I have that fit properly are made of terry cloth. A robe is so dangerously forgiving of caloric indiscretions.
While I’ve been curled up in my apartment watching missed episodes of Top Chef (what a bullshit ending was that!), stuck in New York’s never ending winter, my senses of Reason and Proportion seem to have gone on vacation. I hope they were enjoying the tropical climes somewhere, because at the rate I’ve been ingesting sweets lately, I’ll never want to put on a bikini or go to a beach again.
Must “get a grip!” As my mother would say.
I’ve been known to overdo it. But it’s usually my enthusiasm for great socializing that’s to blame for my over-zealous consumption. I drink too much because I don’t want the night to end; the conversation stimulates and the cocktails are too beautiful and tempting not to keep on ordering. I eat too much because a) the occasion is celebratory, b) the last stop is steak tartare at Blue Ribbon, c) the alcohol has made me fearless of any consequences to my actions. Often, it’s all of the above.
I’m not usually a sit-in-bed-and-munch-through-a-box-of-Honey-Nut-Cheerios type. I don’t stock a lot of food at home, much less junk food. I don’t drink bottles of bourbon alone in my apartment. In fact, I hardly ever drink alone at all. But lately, all my rules have been out the door and I’ve indulged in some sad scenes: cake crumbs in my keyboard…chocolate frosting drool on my pillow…tossing out the only slightly wilted spinach in favor of stuffing another pastry box in the fridge…
The good news is the stuff I’ve been eating has mostly been fantastic. C’mon, I’m not investing in a new (larger) pair of designer jeans because I couldn’t help myself over some Entenmann’s. We’re talking hazelnut gateau from Patisserie Claude, cream cheese-iced carrot cake from Billy’s Bakery, French frosting cupcakes at Butter Lane and, mostly, anything and everything I can get my hands on at Milk Bar.
Photo courtesy of Serious Eats
Let me sing the praises of the latter a little so that if you see me on the street you’ll be less embarrassed about how round my face looks! Milk Bar is producing some of the most innovative bakery items you’ve never thought of. If you want classic (the best croissant in the city) go to Patisserie Claude. If you’re after key lime cake, compost cookies (everything goes in these babies-chocolate, oats, peanut butter, potato chips, you name it…), cashew blondies with shavings of white chocolate, cinnamon bun pie, etc. you must visit Milk. I’ll admit I’ve enjoyed some of the savory offerings as well. How can I resist a compact, flakey, salty, spicy, chewy loaf of chorizo challah? I can’t! They are also serving the same Momofuku soft serve I discovered several months back. Thankfully, it’s been too cold for me to chase cake with ice cream. The peanut butter cookies are, quite simply, the best I’ve ever had. And I’ve been doing a lot of research on this topic lately, I’m afraid.
The bakery is open until 12am, seven nights a week. This accessibility is a real nightmare when it’s clearly too cold to go for me to go for a run and negate some of the effects of their treats, but it’s a blessing if you’re in denial about impending warm weather and plan to stay home, put on your robe and eventually vacuum crumbs off your duvet.
April 3rd, 2009 - 5:01 AM
Do you people ever leave the Village?? Get real.