So a guy walks into La Churreria, the new and charming ‘lil Nolita spot for piping hot churros at most hours of the day. He says “I gotta girl at home who’s had a really rough day at work. What do you have that might cheer her up?” The people behind the counter — understandably, I think — look a little bit confused that this is even a question, “Well, there’s churros. And chocolate.” And they stop there. Because while La Churreria has sandwiches, too, you *know* that’s not why you’re going there. NOR is it what will sweep Had A Rough Day At Work off her feet, good sir. After a pause guy realizes the truth of this, and walks out the door into the frosty cold with a piping hot paper cone full of slender churros and a to-go-dippable-hot-chocolate.
I witness this affair from my tiny post at one of the cute marbled tables in the tiny shoppe, complete with mirrored walls, in case watching yourself eat chocolate dipped fry is your thing. And mind you, I’m kind of giddy over here, ‘cause: first ever churros!
Yessir, I’ve somehow lived in New York 10 years and never even once sampled one during an extralong drunken subway platform wait. (Nor, shockingly, have I ever attempted to make them myself.) I’m kinda glad I waited though. My proverbial first time encounter with this donut relative was pretty special.
I am a sucker for food ritual in general — meals or desserts that have parts, steps, various pieces. Like, sitting down to aforementioned cone full of piping hot crispy churros, the experience of which is only rounded out by the steaming dark chocolate (which, by the way, at La Churreria, is delectably dark — that kind of restraint and richness is so heavenly in melty hot chocolate) in which to dip and the steaming-er tea to cut all the sweet.
While I’m romanced by the experience, my fry companion points out that La Churreria’s churros are lacking in sugar-dusting — and as a result, he points out, you can really taste the oil; that flavor that can only be described as “deep fried.” I’m not sure I actually mind that — it actually lends a nice salty quality to the churros — but I can see how more of a sugar-coating would take them to a new and more nuanced dessert level. Companion also points out that we have a LOT of hot chocolate left over, even after dipping and double-dipping and triple-dipping our scant six churros, and that if I’m game I should just down it: a perfect churros chaser. I consider it, but I decide that given my history of Spilling Things at Inopportune Moments, downing a mug of shiny mud-thick hot chocolate in public might be a bad idea, especially when surrounded by aforementioned mirrors.
If I’m being honest, I deeply regret this decision, and for this reason alone, I may just need to go back kinda soon (also excited to have inaugurated what promises a long and luxurious churros-eating and chocolate-chasing journey).