I stopped by Chinatown last week and remembered to make a slight left onto Baxter St. in search for the hole-in-the-wall sponge cake shop. Hing Win Coffee Shop (got to double check on the name) the sign probably said in red letters above Chinese characters on a gaudy yellow plastic board.When I stepped into the shop, it was tiny. There was just one glass display case with a few shelves that could have at one time featured eye-glasses or jade jewelry. Whatever it used to hold or could have held, now it encases Asian and American baked goods wrapped in clear plastic bags. If you were to wander into the store, none of these would really appear to be appetizing. There weren't beautifully decorated layer cakes, loaves of fluffy butter bread or even egg custard tarts when I went in. I think I was disappointed for the first 5 seconds of stepping into the shop. Dare I ask about a possibly non-existent spongecake? YES!
"Hi, do you guys sell spongecake?" I asked the man behind the extremely old-fashioned cash register. In fact, everything in that store looked like it had stayed the way it had been for over 50 years. While it was clearly an Asian bakery, there was no sign of any Asian workers. Was this the right place? I couldn't help asking myself this ever since I came in to survey the offerings.
"Yes, we do. How many?" he replies. "Oh, um 4. Wait, no. Two. Yes, two," I say with my usual indecisiveness when it comes to ordering food. An elderly Asian woman walks in through the entrance and she says "two dozen" to the man and he automatically hands her a white plastic bag full of what looks like the delicious sponge cakes I am about to tell you about.
I bought my two cakes, each only 60 cents, which is a bargain considering these days the major bakeries sell bland-tasting sponge cakes for 85 cents or more. But not only were they a great value, they were probably the best sponge cakes I have had to date. Now, it seems you can practically get them anywhere so how special could these be, but I ripped a piece off the golden, oval cake and immediately fell in love with its ultra-soft texture. It reminded me of a bath loofah, the kind that's gentle on your skin with very few holes. It was literally sponge-y, but equally fluffy (think a wad of cotton candy before it melts into sugary bits on your tongue) and light with a hint of egg-like sweetness. There was no sign of any oily residue, something I often find at chain bakeries or markets where the plastic bags themselves are smeared with grease from whatever they used to bake the cakes with.
Lately I've been trying to figure out why strawberry shortcakes are usually a disappointment, even at high-end restaurants and it dawned on me that it may be the lack of a euphoric cake base. But this was it! I could already see macerated strawberries sitting atop the ever-so-elegant, oval sponge cake topped with some lightly-sweetened, fresh whipped cream. The next time I go back to this shop, I'm going to do as that woman did and ask for two dozen.
Lesson of that day: When in doubt, just ask!
