Stereotypical, I know. Yet another reference to how much I like bacon. Yet I had heard of these mythical creatures since coming to Berkeley. Friends and food snobs alike had described this breakfast chimera of sweet and savory. United by a common dedication to fat, the bacon doughnut is proof that sometimes two lower-class foods can combine to attain 'gourmet' status at three dollars a pop. My roommate David and I had to experience this first had. It was the perfect excuse to invade the city.
Wandering around SF was a pleasure in itself. Dynamo Donuts is a tiny nook hidden in the Mission, a district of SanFran known for it's Latino sabor. Within five minutes David, born and raised in Mexico City, was scheming with me as to how we could schlep pounds of chicharron and mangos around the city. Murals covered buildings, suggesting that a young Siquieros was hiding behind a nearby shop counter. We strolled through the idyllic weather, assured that today would be a new echelon of wonderful.
We were correct. Bacon doughnuts give surreal a new name. Dali, wax your mustache and sit down, because bacon gives a salty surprise to the sweet fried dough, while apple and maple sing like blue jays in a coffee commercial. It defied every diet on the planet, and I did not care. That doughnut was Motown happiness on a plate.
What, then could be a proper chaser to such divinity? The city never fails. We waddled back towards Humphrey Slocombe. One of a handful of fancy-pants-all-organic-ice cream shops, all with too many adjectives, the chefs twine intriguing and delicious into one creamy, irresistible scoop. Our weapon of choice? Secret Breakfast: cornflakes and bourbon.
Bacon donut, check. Cornflake bourbon ice cream, check. Nunchucks in case we were attacked by angry nutritionists, check. Incapable of eating for the next several hours, we walked over to the MOMA for a little modern art. The next hours we mused over installations and paintings, some which merited awe, and others that drew ill-suppressed giggling. Wandering past these manifestations of artistic thought instills a pensive contentment; it makes one feel like a better human than that frumpy Babbit who rolls out of bed in plaid PJs every other day of the week. I took added satisfaction that I got my art-fix with too much bacon, bourbon, and doughnut rolling around my stomach. I can only imagine what would've happened if I was also lugging around pounds of fruit and Mexican sausage in my purse...
The rest of the day followed a symphonic scheme. We had a quick third movement scherzo of salami, pancetta, and prociutto from the best in charcuterie, Boccalone's. We then wandered up to Coit Tower, in hopes of finding both a fantastic view and a way to burn off colossal quantities of fat. The day ended with a west-coast Pacific sunset, drinks, and interesting people. We chatted up a man taking pictures of his girlfriend "Hell, I'm not even a tourist. I'm just Asian, I f*cking love taking pictures," and a young man who told us he flew F18s for the Navy, "Actually I thought I would tell you I worked as a chef in Napa--figured after hearing that crap you'd believe anything." We talked about sneaking flasks to baseball games and the genius of Carl Sagan.
Honestly, if I heard someone else tell me this story, I'd hate him/her a little. Perhaps some are impervious to jealousy, but I certainly am not. What do I suggest? Go buy some bourbon cornflake ice cream. Even if jealousy persists, the ice cream is so cold the tongue is too frozen to do anything other than enjoy.
What recipe would complement such a day? Ironically, I went vegetarian. Perhaps a herbivorous day is a karmic response. Perhaps my body was simply crying out for dark greens. Perhaps the subsequent sweet potato fontina pizza buried under peppery arugula is delicious any day.
Hubris aside, it is a great pizza. Fontina cheese does not merely melt. Nay, it sheds the confines of society and relaxes into creamy luxury. Sweet potatoes give a nice color and sweetness, and they have more beta carotene than carrots, double win. Arugula is to fontina as scandal is to politics: each has a following separately, but in reality the two are inextricable. It is more fun that way. A drizzle of olive oil and balsamic vinegar on top and my friends feel validated in calling me a food snob. even though it took the same amount of time as an overglorified pasta dish.
Sweet potato fontina pizza with arugula
Favorite pizza dough (when I'm lazy I just pick up fresh dough from my local Trader Joes or grocery store)
Olive oil *
2 c Fontina, grated
1 small sweet potato, sliced as thin as possible
2 c Arugula
Parmesan cheese, balsamic vinegar, olive oil
Brush crust with oil. Sprinkle cheese on top of crust. Lay down potato slices to create a thin layer. Bake at 375 until cheese bubbles and potatoes are more or less tender. Pile on Arugula. Drizzle oil and vinegar on top, grate Parmesan over everything to garnish.
* If I'm feeling less lazy, I'll carmelize an onion: slice a small sweet onion, saute in olive oil until soft and translucent, add a splash of balsamic vinegar and water, let simmer until onions are really soft. Put that on the crust, drizzle olive oil on top.
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