"Everything's up to date in Kansas City," Will Parker sings in the groundbreaking Rodgers and Hammerstein musical, "Oklahoma." "They gone about as fer as they can go." Just back from a trip to California, however, I am reminded once again that out there, predictably, they go even "fer-thur." The Golden State is where new trends and fads in this country as often as not begin.
For example, in California the Toyota fuel cell car is already on the road, Disneyland's Space Mountain has been upgraded to Hyperspace Mountain, there's a miniature-golf course that sells booze, and the state now has an official lichen (Spanish moss).
And when it comes to culinary trends, the Gold Coast is likewise way ahead of the rest of the country. I even had a foie gras funnel cake at Otium, the hot new restaurant in the hot new Broad Museum downtown.
So perhaps I shouldn't have been surprised to discover while visiting the Left Coast there is a culinary war going on in Pasadena. Specifically, it's a battle between, believe it or not, two competing versions of a doughnut ice-cream sandwich. (Who says all the great ideas start in Silicon Valley?)
Substituting a doughnut for a cookie or a wafer in an ice-cream sandwich strikes me as a major culinary breakthrough. It did as well to two ice-cream parlors, Bengees and Afters, that apparently came up with the idea around the same time.
Afters, which operates out of an old gas station on East Green Street in Pasadena, was first with its milky bun, which is a glazed doughnut split in half, filled with your choice of more than a dozen decadent varieties of ice cream (vanilla not among them) and then sealed in a sandwich press and sprinkled with a topping. Bengees came along about a month and a half later with its creamy bun, a nearly identical creation that uses a cronut (a variation of a croissant) instead of a doughnut. I can tell you both are sensational.
Ever since the cold war between Afters and Bengees broke out, ice-cream sandwich combat in California has escalated. In Los Feliz, the Churro Borough dishes up an ice-cream sandwich made with disc-shaped churros. At Milk over in Fairfax, they use French macarons. And at Coolhaus in Culver City, they offer a fried-chicken and waffles sandwich with candied chicken skins and caramelized waffles right in the ice cream.
As a service to readers, I doggedly sought out each of these and I can report they all far surpass the kind of ice cream sandwich made with cardboard-y rectangular cake wafers that you typically get at the grocery store.
Ice cream sandwiches were first introduced by pushcart peddlers in New York's Bowery around the turn of the 20th century and sold for a penny (compared to $6 for today's Milky Bun). An improvement on what was called a hokeypokey, slices cut from a block of ice cream and covered in paper, they were all the rage. Leave it to Californians to make them fads once again.
Though ice cream sandwiches can be built on a practically limitless variety of platforms, there are few taste sensations more heavenly than cold, creamy ice cream juxtaposed with crisp meringue, as in this recipe adapted from Bon Appetit Magazine.
In a food processor, grind 1 cup pecans, 3 tablespoons sugar, cinnamon and salt until fine. Add chocolate chips and remaining 1 cup nuts and process just until coarsely chopped. Beat egg whites and cream of tartar on medium speed until soft peaks form. Gradually add remaining 8 tablespoons sugar and beat until very stiff. Fold in nut mixture and coffee crystals. Drop batter by heaping tablespoonsful onto foil-lined cookie sheets that have been buttered and floured. Bake at 225 degrees for about 55 minutes or until meringues are dry. Cool completely. Sandwich ice cream between meringues and freeze until firm.
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