Cinnamon Buns and Silence

A Swedish cinnamon bun and coffee, in solemn silence swallowed.

The Swedish Seaman's Church, or Svenska Kyrkan, is located on 5th Ave. and 48th St. While its neo-gothic facade doesn't exactly scream Eat Here, the Swedish Seaman's Church has received a fair amount of local notoriety for its homemade cinnamon buns. After being buzzed in, I entered the building wondering what I was getting into.

Once inside, I walked through an open doorway on the right, into a silent, carpeted lounge with shelves of books and Swedish dailies and school-library style tables and chairs. Could this be the right place? A small kitchen area in the back indicated that it was.

Glancing over at the short wall of books, I spotted a hardcover copy of The Odyssey and secretively winced. It reminded me of my failed struggles in college with The Iliad which, as a squeamish 18-year-old, I found offensively war-crazed and completely irrelevant to the mores of the modern world of 1988 which to the best of my knowledge was steadily progressing toward world peace through the good works of Bob Geldof. Feeling a little bit the interloper in this quiet, cultural refuge for Swedes, I had to ask myself how much I wanted this cinnamon bun and whether I'd feel comfortable eating in this bibliothèquish environment. Comfortable enough, I decided, and walked toward the fluorescent-bulb-lit kitchen feeling deliciously close to an authentic Swedish pastry.

The kitchen area was small, with a counter and a refrigerator. To the side was a glass coffee pot with hot coffee. Clearly, this kitchen is not designed for the heavy traffic of the Venti latte crowd. What an adventure! In a quiet, intimate setting like this, you don't need the meditation skills of the Dalai Lama to be in the moment, because you simply are in the moment, because it's not a giant corporate machine that presses forward like an assembly line.

I ordered my cinnamon bun and coffee. The presentation is very cute: a rectangular plate with a circular indentation in the upper right corner for a matching cup (yes, it's the details that excite me). The cinnamon buns are made fresh daily, but I wasn't there at the right time to sample them fresh from the oven, so, while the woman behind the counter zapped a cinnamon bun in the microwave for about 10 seconds, I poured myself some coffee, adding milk from a carton in the fridge.

Flowers and flags at the Swedish Seaman's Church located on 48th and 5th.


Having paid for my coffee and a freshly nuked cinnamon bun, garnished with a complimentary Dumle Scandinavian toffee candy (not something one always gets) I searched the fairly empty seating area for a place to sit.

And now for the taste. The coffee–rich and satisfying. The cinnamon bun–delicate and mild in flavor yet with a comforting, hearty texture. Awesome with coffee.  Clearly European in that it's not about the sugar, it's about the dough: soft, slightly chewy and mildly sweet. Definitely a far cry from Cinnabon, as pointed out by a very dissatisfied little girl sitting nearby with her mother. I've never had a Cinnabon but I don't doubt she's right about the contrast. On the one hand you have the Swedish cinnamon buns which taste like they were baked by kind nuns, on the other,  Cinnabons, created by brilliantly manipulative food scientists. Maybe it's an adult thing (can't believe I just called myself that), but I prefer the the Swedish version; they're probably a lot healthier, too. Who needs loads of high-fructose sweetener when you have sugar that looks like pretzel salt sprinkled on top? I don't, that's for sure.

Italian Hot Chocolate

Cioccolata con panna at Eataly


The most exhilarating three words on Earth may still be I love you, but Italian hot chocolate is a very close second. If you've never had it, then wish for it, aspire to it, dream about it, and by all means plan a trip to wherever it is you have to go to find it.

What makes Italian hot chocolate so good is its thickness and flavor. There are other deliciously thick hot chocolates around the city but they don't share the bold taste of chocolate pudding that Italian hot chocolate has. Plus, the longer you let it sit, the thicker it gets. La dolce vita indeed.

My favorite is the cioccolata con panna at Eataly—a tourist hellhole if ever there was one, but sometimes you have to walk through hell to get to heaven. Not sure if that's a paraphrase of the Bible or The Steve Miller Band, but the point is, once you have that Lavazza V-shaped cup of molten chocolate in front of you, it doesn't matter what tortures you've endured or crimes you've committed, salvation is only a sip away.

Left sitting for 3-4 minutes, a slightly thicker cioccolata con panna.


For hot chocolate so thick you literally have to remove the sippy lid and use a spoon when it cools, there's Amorino on University Place. This hot chocolate is hea-vy. There are many flavors to choose from, including Coconut. So far I've tried Dark Chocolate and White Chocolate. Both are spectacular.

Dark hot chocolate with whipped cream at Amorino

Same as above with whipped cream added. (How GOOD does that look!)

Of Mice and Penguins

Too Damn Cute: White-chocolate covered mice from L.A. Burdick, NYC



Let me tell you, ordering a chocolate mouse is very different than ordering a chocolate mousse. For one thing, you have to open your mouth a lot wider when you speak, it can't be mumbled. I'll bet there are some people who would never even bring themselves to place such an order, they'd feel too silly. Clearly, I am not such a person. And if you do go to L.A. Burdick on 20th Street between Fifth Ave and Park and ask for an espresso and chocolate mouse, here's what you'll get:

Speedy Gonzalez?: Espresso and mouse (also available in dark chocolate and milk chocolate)


Along with tiny mousse-filled meese with long stringy tails, Burdick offers European-inspired tarts, pastries, cakes, coffee drinks, tea and a heady variety of drinking chocolate. I've yet to sample their pastries but I assume they're good. Here's why:

One day while sitting at a corner bench, a lovely french family—parents and their adult son—sat at a table very close to mine. The son placed their order and returned to the table and sat down with his parents. They talked quietly, languidly, the father doing most of the talking while the mother focussed on closing the clasp on her bracelet, which her son, noticing her struggle, ever so gallantly closed for her. (Could you be any more charming?) I didn't see exactly what pastries they were having but heard the mother remark, "C'est bon ça, mon Dieu!"

If that isn't a golden seal of approval, I don't know what is. Who, afterall, knows pastries better than the French? Some might know pastries as well as the French, but no one knows pastries better than the French. And that's that.


Here are some exciting highlights from this extraordinary little chocolate shop.

As previously mentioned... PENGUINS!

Snowmen! (non-abominable)

Their Signature Valentine's Day Assortment... GORGEOUS!!!

And how many chocolatiers honor the birthday of Scottish Poet Robert Burns? Made with real scotch (the good kind), this manly assortment has plenty of burn of its own. (FYI, I'm speaking out of enthusiasm for the concept, I haven't actually tried these.)

Haggis Not Included: Limited edition Scotch Whisky Truffles in honor of Scottish poet Robert Burns.

What's in a Macaron?

BUILD-A-BOX of macarons from Dana's Bakery Photo: Katherine D. Lee

People who've had near-death experiences often describe visions of a bright white light, a phenomenon dismissed by scientists as a surge of chemicals in the dying brain. But maybe these visions aren't hallucinations. Maybe, at the threshold of death lies a sneak peek of heaven, and the gateway to heaven is composed of steep cliffs and billowy clouds of fluffy white meringue. A glimpse of a world that pristine and magnificent would certainly be blinding to mere mortals.

To that point, there's something about a macaron that really is a piece of heaven. Meringue is a key component of the macaron—mixed with almond flour to create a light and airy confection with a cream filling.

A top-tier macaron is a dance of blessed spirits. I can't tell you how many times a large macaron from Bouchon Bakery on my lunch break has transformed a stern cup of coffee into an MGM musical. Just one bite and you are Singin' In the Rain!

Strangely enough, NYC is teeming with macaron shops. A condition that I like to refer to as a Marie Antoinette economy. Goodbye delis, fishmongers, pizza places and all those other basic food stores and bread shops pushed out by surging rents. Let us eat $4 cupcakes! Let us eat gelato! Imported loose candy! And Macarons, puh-lenty of macarons! For some reason, they're the only stores that can afford to be here!


Now there are macarons and there are macarons. Dana's Bakery macarons are definitely the latter. These are fun, informal macarons, with entertaining flavors inspired by childhood favorites: Orange Creamsicle, Pink Lemonade, Candy Cane, Red Velvet and Gingerbread. The list goes on. I don't know how Dana does it, but the Orange Creamsicle macaron tastes like orange creamsicles; the Fruity Pebbles macaron tastes like Fruity Pebbles; and the Birthday Cake macaron tastes so much like birthday cake, you can almost taste the stray drops of candle wax. The Red Velvet macaron deftly mimics Red Velvet cake, I only wish the filling tasted more like cream cheese. (File that under First World Problems for sure.)

Dana's Bakery is mainly available online but fresh Dana's Bakery macarons can also be found around the city at various locations of The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf. Freshness is key. Ain't nothin' good about a stale macaron.

Even when I'm not actually buying anything, I like visiting the DB Website just to browse through all the clever and amazing new flavors available. There's always something specially made for the season. This month's highlight is... well... let's put it this way, if I know who's playing the Super Bowl this year, it is not because I know anything about football:

Denver Chocolate Peanut Butter vs Seattle Seasalt Caramel
Photo from Dana's Bakery website.