It’s been a while since you went crazy for cronuts, cretzels, and cr’nishes, so this news will make you gastronomically giddy: there’s a newcomer to the trendy New York City hybrid food scene, and it should move straight to the top of your must-eat list. It’s called the Bruffin.
Well, I shouldn’t really call it a “newcomer;” the Bruffin has been around for about eight months, originally (and still) slung from a stall at Smorgasburg in Brooklyn. This past weekend, it moved into one of its new homes, the meatpacking district’s brand-new Gansevoort Market , which is a must-visit for food fanatics for non-Bruffin-related missions, as well.
There’s also the Bruffin Cafe at 85 Delancey Street, where you can binge on any of the twelve savory, internationally inspired Bruffins (and several more sweet varieties), each one affixed with a country's flag to represent its flavor.
So, what’s a Bruffin, anyway? If you were thinking, predictably, that it’s a lot like a muffin, extinguish that thought from your mind right now. The Bruffin takes the latter part of its name from its muffinesque figure, but texturally it couldn’t be more different. That’s because it's made with light and airy brioche pastry, and takes its shape from being shaped around various decadent fillings before being baked.
Flavor combinations abound, such as the American, with Buffalo-style white meat chicken, blue cheese, and hot sauce; the British, with bacon and sharp cheddar; the Indian, with masala curried chicken, chickpeas, and paneer cheese; and the Italian (or the Triple P, as I call it), with pepperoni, pesto, and parmigiano. And there are so many others, including sweet Bruffins like blueberry–mascarpone and vanilla–apple–almond. This is my favorite thing about Bruffins, aside from their texture: Unlike the esteemed Cronut from Dominique Ansel, the Bruffin is available in all of these awesome flavors all the time, instead of there being just one type offered each month.
A friend invited me and my girlfriend to accompany her and her boyfriend to the first night of Gans Market (as the cool kids call it) this past Saturday, completely forgetting that whenever I venture to a new culinary hangout, I instantly morph into investigative reporter mode. As soon as we entered, my eyes caught sight of the slick Bruffin signage hanging over a small corner booth. My gaze then shifted down to the case of Bruffins, their colorful flags beckoning me.
I turned to my girlfriend and looked at her with widened eyes, knowing that she was experiencing the same visceral reaction.
“Should we get one?!” she asked emphatically, already knowing the answer.
We jolted ahead of the others to the pastry oasis and were welcomed by a bright-eyed young woman who asked us if we knew about the Bruffin.
“No. Tell us everything,” I said, hardly containing myself.
Instead, she did better, getting the attention of a man with dark blue jeans, white polo shirt, and matching hair, who was finishing up a chat with a couple of satisfied Bruffin customers on the other side of the counter.