Sullivan Street Bakery

I was stopped on the corner of 10th avenue and 47th street yesterday afternoon with a bag full of quails (for a April Bloomfield-esque salad of pan fried quail, rocket and young pecorino romano, drizzled with the must of muscadel grapes instead of the aged balsamic my wallet resisted) when I noticed an older couple looking at me intently. At least, I assumed they were looking at me, since the only thing behind me was, I think, a bodega. In any case, the staring continued until the wife (presumably) exhaled sharply and walked over. "We saw you with the Citarella bag and thought you might know about food in the area - Do you know where Sullivan Street Bakery is?".

In fact, I was at that moment on my way to Sullivan Street for a round of Jim Lahey's wonderful Pan Integrale to pair with my salad, and I took them past the couple of garages that mark the somewhat dubious looking path towards the far west side bread palace, bought my own loaf, and left them with a stern order not to leave without bombolonis (a yeasty, briochey donut that may be the best fried thing in New York). I thought about giving them a few other recommendations in the area, playing over in my head what I would say - "Do you like fish? Esca is nearby. Or odd sandwiches? Xie Xie! Or maybe you should just go to Burger Joint and then continue along the road to Zibetto. Or maybe you can head down to the flatiron and sneak into the Breslin".

But then I looked at them crunching on their first bites of bread and left them to it.