By Chloe Cheimets
In January, I moved to San Francisco after fifteen years in New York City. My husband got a dream job offer across the country and off we went. As they say — when being gender-inclusive — happy spouse, happy house.
Our last apartment was on West 73rd Street between Columbus Avenue and Central Park West, a fifth-floor walkup with a neighbor who was extremely diligent about practicing scales on his French horn every day. I don’t miss hiking up five floors with groceries and I don’t miss the French horn scales, but I do miss everything else about my old neighborhood, which we called home for seven years.
I miss the people who love to chat up strangers around them and kvetch. I miss the park. I miss the Eleanor Roosevelt statue at the 72nd Street entrance to the river. I miss the dollar paperbacks outside Westsider Books. Most of all I miss the food – delicious, unpretentious, abundant. In San Francisco they don’t give you free rice when you order out an Indian or Chinese entrée. It’s unconscionable!
But the one food item I miss the most, which I go to bed dreaming about, is the Zabar’s Café cinnamon bun.
Now, what it seems you can get anywhere, in SF, NYC, or otherwise, is a puff-pastry kind of cinnamon roll. It’s usually flaky, glazed, a little dry, with a hint of cinnamon flavor. Sometimes it’s a version of a Pain aux Raisins. I do NOT like this cinnamon pastry form factor. I do NOT eat a cinnamon bun to feel delicate and French. I eat a cinnamon bun to feel American and gluttonous. I eat a cinnamon bun to get covered in goo. After a good cinnamon bun, I should feel like I took a tranquilizer.
On this, the Zabar’s bun delivers. It’s huge, practically the size of an adult human hand. It’s mushy, doughy, gooey. None of this glazed nonsense – it’s slathered in a thick topping of vanilla frosting, like a cupcake. It’s so sweet, it makes my molars hurt. When you eat it, you’ve probably fulfilled your caloric intake for the day.
If you really want to be overcome with bliss, buy it, and then go next door to Zabar’s proper to buy a wedge of Dutch gouda. Go east to the park, and while sitting in the grass, slice a piece of the gouda and a hunk of bun and eat them together, cheese on top of carb. The sharp tang of the gouda paired with the deep sweet of the pastry is otherworldly. For a moment, you’ll have nothing to complain about.
In researching this piece, I saw that you can order a tray of Zabar’s cinnamon buns to be shipped to California. A tray is a lot. If I buy it, I’m worried that I’ll overdose on such a behemoth volume of buns. I’m also afraid having them in my fridge will only make me miss the Upper West Side more. But, on the other hand, maybe I’ll be brave and take the plunge. If I do, I think I’ll take my bun to the park atop the freezing, blustery hill near my new apartment and eat it, dreaming of home.
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My molars are throbbing here in #sanmiguelallende as I drink coffee from Chiapas from my Zabar’s cup. Great piece!
I love this essay, and my thanks to Chloe for inspiring me to visit Zabar’s to sample this delicious indulgence. Your yearning for aspects of your former neighborhood is palpable, and it deepens my admiration for your support of your spouse. I moved into the upper West Side from Long Island, and I don’t miss it for a second.
I literally just had (half) of a Zabar’s cinnamon bun for breakfast. The author’s praise is spot on. While in first place, Fairway’s version is a close second.
Bottom line,, Zabar’s pastry selection is consistently good and I am grateful. I just lament their dropping the bread pudding muffin a few years ago. Half made a perfect dessert.
And the apple turnovers which never returned post- lockdown 🙁
This was a touching article about missing home when having to move on. At least what you miss the most is deliverable, which is a great silver lining. Enjoy the cinnamon buns and your UWS memories while making new ones in SF.
I happened to be eating a Fairway cinnamon bun when I saw this headline; happy to do a comparison study when I get the chance!
I’m frequently in the Bay Area, and my go-to sugar stops there are the local donut shops, like Golden Gate Donuts on 6th St. Not a Zabar’s cinnamon bun, but maybe a fresh apple fritter or old fashioned would be an adequate substitute?
Laughed: cinnamon bun and Gouda combo!
What an adorably sweet little essay! I am allergic to Zabar’s cinnamon buns, but this piece gave me a taste of them in a wonderfully figurative way. Thank you.
Cinnamon bun from Lenwich is wonderful.
Great article. I’m a Native New Yorker who has lived on the UWS for the past 36 years and lived in SF for 2 years. I completely identify with the emotions shared. Thank you!
I love a goopy cinnamon bun. But my all time fave – because I love even more for the cinnamon bun to be thickly rolled with toasted pecans – is Orwasher’s cinnamon nut babka. Maybe not authentic to any particular tradition, it stands astride the history of baked goods on its own buttery, doughy, yeasty, sweet crusted, nutty merits. Don’t buy the disappointment of too little for too much in the $4 slice – get the whole $17 loaf, share it with friends or loved ones (or if you take it as a house or host present, your deliriously happy hosts). And yes, I love a Zabars cinnamon bun too. Deep satisfaction. I bet they freeze. But if you like the nuts, Orwashers is just over on 81st and Amsterdam.
Correction – Orwasher’s “Sticky Bun Babka”!
Check out Devil’s Teeth Baking in SF! No frosting but gooey to the extreme.
A lovely testament. I hope you find what SF offers soon to make you feel at home!
Your mouth-watering piece inspired my walk over to Zabar’s this morning. Worker told me they were out of cinnamon “buns,” but they had cinnamon “rolls,” which seemed to fit your description pretty well. So do they really have two different items like this? The “roll” was pretty good, but not nearly as good as I had expected based on your story…
You have to go back for the bun! They do have two different kinds, I should have clarified!! The roll doesn’t cut it.
The bun has the “icing on the cake”. If you’re going to go, go all the way.