you think you know what a churro is.
one night, you got drunk in williamsburg and you stumbled out of the levee to find yourself waiting on the L train platform for 40 minutes. an angel appeared out of nowhere and sold you a churro from a cart for a buck. it prevented you from vomiting all over the lovely new blue train cars. you asked her to marry you.
you were in orlando with the kids. your husband wouldn’t take off those damn mickey ears and the kids were screaming because they were starving. one more ride on the mountain of whatever and you’d kill someone. suddenly you saw a stand with sugar-coated churros at $7 a piece. you would have paid $15.
you were at an “authentic” mexican restaurant on the LES listening to beach house on the speaker system getting served by an apathetic 20-something aspiring mixed media collage artist. after filling your belly with braised duck tacos, vegan enchiladas, and corn tortilla chips (of course), you asked for the dessert menu. they brought out a plate of hazelnut chocolate-filled, cinnamon coated massive churros with a white chocolate dipping sauce.
traditional churros are served plain and piping hot. they are deep-fried. they are made with three ingredients: flour, water, salt. once they’re in your hands, still warm from the fryer, you can dip them in chocolate sauce, dip them in a cappuccino, roll them in sugar, cinnamon, salt. you can wrap them in bacon and have a coronary. it doesn’t matter, but that is what a traditional churro is.