It seems like American chip flavors just keep getting crazier, with each trip to the grocery store yielding a rogue’s gallery of strange new monstrosities. But this craziness is also circumscribed, pushed toward ever more extreme, overdriven concoctions, mash-ups and combinations, as well as eerily faithful reenactments of foods that have no business existing as chips. On the fast-food side of this equation, Pizza Hut has recently launched the latest attempt at challenging the Doritos Locos Taco. This hulking abomination expands the humble Cheez-It to mammoth proportions. A Cheez-It is obviously not a chip, but it's pizza-fied offspring (the end-result of years of desperate promiscuity by Sunshine, a company that needs to realize the inherent perfection of its star product and stick with it) is so wrongheaded, and so representative of the grotesquerie which defines the current state of processed food culture, that I would be remiss not to mention it. I should also mention that Extra Toasty Cheez-Its are a godsend, and almost singlehandedly balance out the damage inflicted by the last 15 years of lab-spawned, misbegotten oddities.
0 Comments
There are hundreds of pizzerias in New York City, serving round and rectangular pies, ranging from the most delicate Neapolitan construction to the humblest dollar slice, with all manners of variety and toppings in between. There is, as far as I can tell, only one place serving langos, the Hungarian answer to the portable, sliceable, cheese-bedecked pie, and it’s not even a brick-and-mortar establishment. It’s a truck, manned by a friendly fellow who handles the entire preparation himself, which trawls the Union Square area and a few other select locations in Manhattan. This is a shame, because as Eastern European cousins to accessibly exotic snack foods go, the langos is pretty fantastic, a snappy cold weather retort to the relaxed rhythms of peninsular eating. The primary difference between it and a pizza is the use of fried dough as a base, rather than an airier baked crust, which immediately removes any possible applications as a health food. Freshly fried as I waited, the dough didn’t have any lingering grease residue, and despite its Magyar origin point was reminiscent of Navajo fry bread, another hearty but surprisingly light item not readily available in the city. The biggest difference from the standard pizza comes via the swapping out of sauce for sour cream, which is topped with grated gouda, although Old-World variations apparently often involve quark, liptauer, or good old Swiss Emmentaler. I had my langos fortified with a sprinkling of smoked ham cubes, although in retrospect I probably misordered; in the interest of exploration I should have opted for Hungarian salami. The result was delicious nonetheless, a sharp counterpoint to the silky smoothness of pizza, and the pleasant mixture of gently fried bread and two healthy helpings of dairy grants it a wholesome, satisfying quality which, if not quite at the level of a great slice, explains how the snack has managed to spread out all over Southern Europe.
|
The coded language of snacks, sandwiches and seasonings, in NYC and beyond.
Archives
February 2022
Categories
All
|