Eating With Boykji: A Dining Diary in Five Parts
14 September 2010 - James BooIn mid-August, my great friend and epic eating comrade Boykji visited New York for a whirlwind tour of the city’s eats. The five days I spent sharing meals with Boyk reminded me of how lucky I am to live in New York, where one can literally spend hours on end walking, eating and repeating without ever getting bored. They also tested my limits more than any stretch of time in recent memory – there’s something to be said about bad influences when two insatiable appetites egg each other on against the better sense of gastric conscience.
For better or for wurst, here’s the record of our eating marathon – I’ll be breaking form to spread this over the week, so your RSS feeds don’t explode. Let the feast of a thousand hams begin!
North Brooklyn Grazing
The next morning began with white donut peaches, trucked from farm to table by way of my legendary neighborhood food coop. I’d been eating farm fresh, rapturously ripe peaches every single day since the season came to a head, and that week’s shipment signaled the sad retreat of New York’s summer fruits.
We relished the peaches’ clean, juicy sweetness and followed with a pot of coffee over an apple bran muffin and chocolate croissant from Blue Sky Bakery. While every mention of Blue Sky has pushed me to try their muffins (which are indeed divine), the bakery’s croissants are ultimately more gratifying.
A sub-par croissant is one of very few foods I will throw into the garbage without hesitation. Rubbery, greasy folds, dry, brittle layers, the insipid/rancid taste of heavy-handed, artificial butter for some reason offend my White Castle-loving taste buds so much that after one bite of anything less than pleasant, I declare my morning ruined and begin the search for a foolproof cookie to turn things around.
I could argue that the sheer existence of croissants like the ones at Blue Sky would turn anyone into a pastry snob in a matter of seconds. Their layers are so fine that they form a flaky, feathery and chewy cloud of flavor. The true taste of butter is pronounced warmly and humbly, and should you choose to go the chocolate route, you’ll be rewarded with a hint of sweetness beneath the surface. It’s almost enough to make a man forsake his morning bagel.
The rest of the day was spent in North Brooklyn, where Boykji and I hopped from haunt to haunt, taking one bite at a time. Crullers and raised at Peter Pan Donuts. Trading card binge at Pop Fuzz. A peek at the New Orleans-style cookout known as Tchoup Shop. Bratwurst, fries, kraut and pitchers of Belgian session beers – as satisfying a midday meal as ever – at Radegast. Pints of ale and games of Crystal Castles at Barcade. A half pound of pork belly barbecue (the only consistently great menu choice, by my reckoning) at Fette Sau. Fried chicken, catfish, greens and slaw at Pies n Thighs. A nightcap of Hofbräu, Bruce Cost Ginger Ale and Star Trek.
All the splendor of the G train, and not a single bite of Polish food. In a city like New York, it’s entirely possible.
Blue Sky Bakery
53 5th Ave.
Brooklyn, NY 11217
718.783.4123
