David Lebovitz

I woke up this morning, and could not even make it through to the second half of my flagel.

My stomach was stuffed from yesterday, which began at Baked in Brooklyn, then extended through to a burger and fries at Shake Shack, across the border to Connecticut for steamed lobster, then back into New York City with a quick detour through the Apple store, then home to polish off the box of cookies I absconded with from the boys at Baked. Because, you know, I had to eat them while they were still fresh. Right?

So you can imagine that I didn't wake up with much of an appetite.

However...

Could the Doughnut Plant be the best place in the world?

I'm sorry, but I don't remember the name of each and every doughnut we had at Doughnut Plant in New York City. Frankly, I was so caught up in ordering doughnuts, passing them around, trying to take a few snaps, while going berserk over each and every flavor of doughnut we tried, my sanity took a temporary leave and I just let the overwhelming experience of being surrounded by fluffy, just-made, extraordinarily wonderful doughnuts pass over (and into) me.

It was standing in the middle of a storm of doughnuts, literally playing referee between the hungry mob I arrived with.

I sometimes think about stepping back into the restaurant world. I miss being around all that energy and cooking alongside others instead of toiling in the kitchen all by my lonesome (...and with you, of course). But it's nice to bounce ideas off of others and do more involved presentations, plus I'll admit, I miss having a team of dishwashers on staff just as much—or even more.

I love what the new generation of pastry chefs have been doing. There's lot of fresh talent out there, and I guess I should just continue to leave things (and the pots and pans) in their hands and be happy to remain a stay-at-home baker.

It felt a little funny heading over to Porchetta for lunch. I mean, I live right next to Italy and had amazing porchetta there just recently. So why am I taking a lengthy subway trip down to the East Village for lunch?

And I was tempted even further when I was on the way to meet my friend Shira (who I met on a boat trip on the Côte d'Azur last year) for lunch, and I passed a 'San Francisco-style' burrito place that tugged in the pit of my slightly bulging stomach at my sense of nostalgia for the famed tummy-torpedos I remembered so well.

But like the people who told me that that Mexican food and BBQ in New York aren't going to be as good as where they originated (which I find partially true, but I've had great French food in New York and wonderful Italian fare in San Francisco, so perhaps I'm becoming a little too globalized for my own good) I'm going to agree that it's pretty hard to replicate a San Francisco burrito. So in my twisted logic that says you can't get a good San Francisco-style burrito in New York City, but good Tuscan roast pork is a possibility, porchetta it was. And boy, am I glad when my convoluted reasoning works out.

Tradition schmadition. Something I've noticed every time I come to New York is that the bagels keep getting puffier and puffier. (Which happened before everything started going 3D.) When I eat a bagel, I want a chewy exterior with lot of seeds on it and enough dough inside to support a swipe of cream cheese. I don't want a whole loaf of bread in there. Is that too much to ask?

Roaming around the streets of New York, I've seen bagels practically as round as a baseball and others as fluffed up as a burger bun. And I know you're not going to believe this, but I even saw bagels with dried fruit in them. Oy. What is this city coming to?

We came for the burnt ends. But to be fair, when we called the day before to see if RUB Barbeque took reservations, we were told that they sometimes run out of certain items because they take days to smoke. So, of course—with my luck, we arrived at RUB, aka, Righteous Urban Barbeque, to...

I think that sign is the VA (version Américain) of the infamous Fermeture exceptionnelle I've come to know all too well. I asked at the counter, "Are they really as good as they say they are?" and the woman replied, "Yes, they are." When I started to cry, the staff sat me down at the bar and gave me a Country Cocktail of housemade lemonade and a double shot of bourbon.

A few years ago, I was extremely fortunate to meet Gina DePalma, the pastry chef at Babbo in New York City, thanks to the matchmaking efforts of Karen Page and Andrew Dornenburg.

Being bakers, we struck up a friendship and she gave me a copy of her gorgeous book, Dolce Italiano. And after we had dessert and coffee together, we ambled the streets of New York City a little and made plans to meet in Rome, where she was moving to work on her second book. Unfortunately we didn't get to have our Roman holiday, but I often thumb through her book and dream about how much fun we would have had lapping our way through the gelaterias of Rome and eating all those pastries with little sips of Italian espresso in between bites.

Appearances

I have a few appearances coming up, and if you're around, please come by and say hi...

-August 5: Borders Books, New York City - 7pm (That's this week!)

-September 25: La Cocotte, Paris - 3 to 5pm

You can find more information about them on my Schedule page. That's all I have planned so if I'm not coming to where you are, hop on the plane and I'll see you here—or there!

Recipe Use and Attribution

Food writer Laurie Colwin once said something along the lines of, "If it wasn't for sharing of recipes, humans would not have survived." Recipes are indeed, wonderful ways not just to ensure that humans will continue to inhabit the earth (although it remains to be seen for how long), and many of us have recipe boxes and notebooks full of cherished recipes.