Grace Street

Continuing our trek through the Eater described “best doughnuts in NYC” today I visited Grace Street to pick up some of the Korean doughnuts they recommended (Ho-Dduk) as well as some beignets which I have been trying to find in NYC but to no avail.

The dough was thicker and spongier than I expected. Whatever oil they use, it makes the outside nice and golden brown but doesn’t soak in to the doughnut itself. Ordered “to stay” it is cut in four and served with vanilla ice cream. The filling is the stuff of legend. A mixture of sugar, cinnamon and walnuts it liquefies when the doughnut is cooked and becomes proof of God. When I was a kid I would make myself cinnamon toast but somehow it didn’t come close to this!

They mistakenly thought I wanted the beignets to stay – which was a good thing because when it came time to package it all up, I was given the accompanying green tea ice cream. Yum! The beignets themselves were good but not great. I feel like I have had better zeppoles at the San Gennaro feast in Little Italy. And I know the ones at Cafe du Monde are better but that’s just not fair. At the end of the day, if you are going to make the trip to Grace Street, stick with the Ho-Dduk!

As always, I didn’t keep the doughnuts to myself. Comments from friends:

The beignets brought me back to standing in line for the fried dough at a carnival. Green tea ice cream, I’m also a fan of but you couldn’t taste the tea part unless you just took a bite without the beignet. As far as the ho-dduk, I could eat the filling for the rest of my life.

Me too Erinn, me too.

As for Nate’s response? There is literally no way for me to prepare you for this. So here you go:


Listen up, when you find your fingers battered in glue, you’ve set the pins for a bad day at the lanes—but not always. Sometimes something comes around that’s good and bad all at once. It’s a dangerous game.

Gracey, I’ll just give it to you straight: your little cakes can leave behind a flakey crust anytime. Anytime after 6, anytime by 5:59. I’ll be home and I’m up for it.

I’ll tell you, woman, I am many things, but never been a pastry man. Dough and flour leave me bloated like a house-cat, with little left to give but MEOW. Not you. Deep fried to elastic perfection, dusted gently, so sweet and delicious. I find my mouth SEDUCED, all corners activated, pulled in directions unknown. It’s too much, I must retreat from you. AND THEN—what’s this sultry companion? a glaze of green and cream. Your sweet hat of lacquer. The cool patch of asphalt on a hot summer day, a companion for addiction. More please.

Gracey, who are you?
Never let me go, sweet woman.


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