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.
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.
