the city that never sleeps is always eating, pt. 4

Now that we had tasted breakfast in the city, our appetite for morning snacks was insatiable. We've mentioned before that we want to like doughnuts more than we do. Our recent trip to Top Pot in Seattle had seemed promising, but was a little disappointing. We still hadn't found our gateway doughnut. Doughnut Plant caught our eye when we first read about their seasonal flavors like strawberry and toasted chestnut and the high-quality, organic ingredients. We thought we might as well give it a chance.

Before we had even set foot inside the doorway, the counterman had our number. He laughed, "I saw you two from a block away and knew you were coming here, smiling like that. I was going to tell you, 'Oh, sorry man, we're closed today." He then proceeded to ask us where we came from and when we mentioned Portland, he didn't miss a beat before saying, "Oh, Voodoo Doughnuts, right?" See? New York *hearts* Portland. We ordered a bag with a chocolate-glazed, a square coconut cream, and something called a "Blackout" before heading over to a Chinatown soccer field to see what we'd gotten ourselves into.

The regular chocolate-glazed doughnut had an amazing, yeasty crumb. It was fluffy and not-too-sweet (the chocolate was Valrhona). Right off the bat, it was the best doughnut either of us had ever tasted. In fact, we hesitate to call these doughnuts, given how far they were from our previous conceptions of the food. We'd mainly gotten the coconut cream one because it was square, and we're suckers for gimmicks, but it was a real knock-out. It had the same airy, yeasty taste and was filled with a perfectly light and sweet cream. Even though we both avoid cake doughnuts, we got a "blackout" because it was the house specialty. It turned out to be an unbelievable surprise. This doughnut was far more like a dense, moist cupcake than the dry cake dougnnuts we were used to. Plus, the fudge swirl and chocolate crumbs only made the entire thing all the more decadent. These doughnuts were like having a peak-of-the-season tomato and realizing, "This is what it is supposed to taste like; this is what people are talking about." We are not exaggerating when we say we'd consider moving to New York for Doughnut Plant alone.

Having thus expanded our minds (and bellies) we decided to spend some time away from food. The Brooklyn Museum, which at one time was almost the largest museum in the world, is now relatively under-appreciated, given all of the local competition. The museum itself is beautiful and even though much of it was under renovation as part of a hip re-design, there was still plenty on display to see. It also draws some real heavy-hitting exhibits, like the Takashi Murakami show, ©MURAKAMI, which had brought us there. Murakami is a very clever contemporary artist, who blends anime, otaku culture, manga, sex, urban vinyl, classical scroll painting, and a heaping dose of commercialism. We spent the first twenty minutes watching a stream of videos - everything from Kaikai & Kiki cartoons to Kanye West's recent music video. If you take a look at that cartoon link, it captures most of the exhibit's content (apart from the sexually explicit life-size action figures). Murakami is actually a very proficient painter and fills his hyperkinetic, color-saturated canvas with allusions to Japanese culture like two massive paintings of pop-art daruma figures. Throughout his career, Murakami has always been quick to capitalize on the touchy relationship between art and commerce, editioning miniatures of his sculpture and merchandising all of his characters. It all blends so thoroughly that when you see the lines of people queuing up to buy plush cartoon flowers, it's difficult to tell whether Murakami is making a statement or just a buck. Still, if you'd like a more exclusive souvenir, there was a full, working Vuitton store selling Murakami-branded purses in the middle of the exhibit.

After a large helping of pop-culture and consumerism, it is only fitting that we immersed ourselves in feminist art and politics. Judy Chicago's sculpture, The Dinner Party, is often regarded as the defining work of the 1970s' feminist art movement, but was kept in storage until the Brooklyn Museum dedicated a wing to it in 2007. Just another example of the marginalization and trivialization of women's production, but we'll save that for another time. It was incredibly refreshing to see a museum gallery full of vulvas, when most of the history of art is peppered with phalluses. The Dinner Party is a very commanding piece and it was cool to see groups of school children engaging with the symbolism, while docents gingerly prodded the kids in the right direction. A was thoroughly inspired.

So many vulvas, not enough wieners. So we went to Willie's Dawg's, the New York source for "Let's be frank" hot dogs (a provider founded by the former Chez Panisse "meat forager"). Now, if we may talk about ourselves in the third person for a moment, P&A love hot dogs, but worry about their sustainability. Niman ranch grass-fed beef solves that. Why can't all hot dogs be so tasty and morally sound? To make matters even better, Willie's supports the Humane Society and crowds the walls with pictures of rescue dogs. Adorable. P chose the "Mutto de Mayo," which was topped with chipotle mayo, onions, tomatoes, chiles, and "tortilla dust." Meanwhile, A's "Murray" dog tasted like a seven-layer casserole, with avocado, beans, sour cream, tomato...and now we've lost count. We are, however, counting the days until we can order online.

Afterwards, we rode up north and walked down through Greenpoint to Williamsburg. Greenpoint is a large Polish neighborhood bustling with activity and Eastern European food. It stuck P as being close to what Scranton would have been like back in its hey-day. We wished we could have spent more time there and we very much wished we could have tried the pirogies at Lomzynianka. If you live in New York and are reading this, it is your duty to try them on our behalf. We lingered outside staring at the menu for ten minutes before we conquered our desire in favor of our health and well-being.

If we couldn't let ourselves eat for a little while, we might as well exercise our sense of smell. So we went to check out CB I hate perfume, an inventive and irreverent perfumer. A while back, P had bought A a perfume from them that smelled like smoky tea, musty shelves and leather book bindings called "Russian Caravan Tea." Believe us - it smells amazing. A has never liked perfume, but CB's memory-based approach to scent appealed to her, particularly their hyper-accurate food scents. Pimm's Cup. California roll. French Bread. Imagine the possibilities... We probably sounded like fools as we kept inhaling aromas and exclaiming, "Whoa, it smells exactly like what the label says!" That might be the point. Hopefully we made up for our remedial scent identification with A's purchase, "To See a Flower," a scent that changes from the dirt and chlorophyll of just-cut stems to a light floral petal aroma. We're sorry our blog isn't scratch n' sniff.

We wandered around Williamsburg a little longer, as we still had over an hour before we were meeting our friend Hannah at our dinner destination. It was 4:00. 5:15 may seem a ridiculous time to meet for dinner (and it was, a little), but we were a bit nervous about getting into Una Pizza Napoletana. They are only open four days a week, and only then from five until they run out of dough. Any talk of food "running out" gets us panicked, so we arrived at 5:15, waited until Hannah showed up at 5:45 and easily sat down in a half-full restaurant. Better safe than sorry.

The pizza was well worth our embarrassing eagerness. Namely because this pizza would be worth any sort of tribulation. Anthony Mangieri, the pizzaiolo (with a great name), makes only four pizzas. He has no takeout menu (why would you need one with four options?), but rather a manifesto outlining his technique and his chosen ingredients. For a sense of his attitude, he was recently featured in a CHOW video series called, "Obsessives."

Each pizza is incredibly simple, essentially a variation on the same handful of ingredients. Between the three of us, we split a margherita (tomato sauce, buffalo mozzarella, basil), a filletti (fresh tomatoes, buffalo mozzarella, basil), and a special fifth (!) pizza of argula, parmiggiano, and buffalo mozarella. All three pies were drizzled with high-quality olive oil and a sprinkling of sea salt crystals, a combination that heightened the other flavors. They really were unlike any pizza we'd ever had. The crust was charred, but retained its lightness and was incredibly flavorful (it's naturally leavened and takes 36 hours to make); every bite was a burst of concentrated tastes. With pizza like this it's hard to pick a favorite, but the margherita definitely topped the list, the arugula pie close behind. You might scoff when Mangieri claims, "Nothing... purer or [more] honestly wholesome can be bought at any price," but if you've had his pizza, his cockiness is well-warranted.

In the last few years, there has been a huge surge in speakeasy style bars - places that focus on classic cocktails in "hidden" locations. PDT is hidden inside a hot dog joint; to be precise, it is through the phone booth of Crif Dogs. A dialed the phone to the restaurant and we managed to sneak in through the false wall just before the rush of reservations began. Swankily appointed with wooden panels, leather banquettes and taxidermied animals, the bar looked like the Doug Fir had crossed with a Rat-Pack-era lounge. Their drink menu was full of unique combinations such as P's choice: an old-fashioned with bacon-infused bourbon and maple syrup. It wasn't just breakfast in a glass; it was much more balanced and complex than you'd expect and had some of the qualities of a scotch. A ordered a concoction of port, cab franc, egg, cherry, lillet and who knows what else. It was rich, frothy and delicious. We only had time for one drink before our seats were promised to someone with reservations, so P couldn't order the bar-special hot dog, a deep-fried, bacon-and-kimchi-wrapped frank invented by David Chang of Momofuku fame. It was a great disappointment for P and posed yet another in a string of reasons to move to New York.

From here, the drinks got less classy and the food disappeared. Hannah showed us Beauty Bar, a rehabbed salon that offered discount cocktails with manicures during happy hour. Luckily, it ended up being much more punk than P had expected. We drank some Brooklyn lagers under the beehive hairdryers and took enough flash-photos that we are surprised we weren't kicked out. After that, all we can remember is that we ended up in a Ukranian bar in the East Village called the Sly Fox, drinking bombers of Obolon beer while suited mob-types paced in the back hall. All and all, a successful Thursday.

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Doughnut Plant - 379 Grand St, New York; J,M,Z @ Essex; F @ Delancey
Brooklyn Museum - 200 Eastern Parkway, Brooklyn; 2,3 @ Eastern Parkway/Brooklyn Museum
Willie's Dawgs - 351 Fifth Ave, Brooklyn; F,M,R @ Fourth Ave/9th St.
CB I Hate Perfume - 93 Wythe Ave, Brooklyn; L @ Bedford
Una Pizza Napoletana - 349 E. 12th St, New York; L @ First Ave; 6 @ Astor Pl.
PDT - Inside Crif Dogs at 113 St. Marks Pl, New York; 6 @ Astor Pl.; L @ First Ave
Beauty Bar - 231 E. 14th St, New York; 4, 5, 6, L, N, Q, R, W @ 14th St.-Union Sq.; L @ Third Ave