How I Burned Down a New York City Apartment for Apple Cider Doughnuts
Fire and spice
It was intermission at Lincoln Center, where we’d gone to mix with the haut monde to see the New York Philharmonic’s annual performance of the Brandenburg Concertos, when Rachel said she was hungry.
“Let’s grab a slice afterward,” I suggested.
“I want doughnuts,” she replied. “Apple cider doughnuts.”
I had the next hour to make a plan. During this long-ass harpsichord cadenza that Bach had dropped into the middle of the fifth concerto, my mind wandered. There were no quality doughnut shops in that part of town open past noon. The artisanal doughnut craze had just taken hold of the hipster dining scene, but Brooklyn was too far away, ruling out any chance of late-night quality scores. Then, just as the celebrated cellist Fred Sherry brought the performance home with a lively flourish — did he just wing that on the spot? — it hit me.
“I make the best apple cider doughnuts you’ll ever have,” I said, lying. After the encore, we packed up our stuff and headed for a downtown train.
Doughnuts entered America via Manhattan, when a Dutch sailor on his way to New Amsterdam brought his mother’s deep-fried dough with him for the voyage. According to one version of the story, he invented…
