Though it might appear inauspicious that a bakery would name itself after one of the hardest rocks known to mankind, I would invite you to come and stand outside of this bakery. Not even step into the store, mind you; just at the corner of the quiet, apartment-lined block where it sits. Very soon, your olfactory senses will be assaulted, like mine was, with the sweet, buttery smells of freshly baked goods and all essayed arguments against carbs and holiday weight gain will promptly fly out the window as your feet are compelled to move with a will of their own toward the door of this tiny, unassuming store.
The bakery is seemingly built without an ounce of marketing care. There is no effort made to decorate and attract customers (indeed, there's barely any space for people to walk as the floors are lined nearly wall to wall with boxes of pastries and there are no fancy cappuccino drinks to pair with your purchase (instead, the lone refrigerator is lined with nothing but bottles of an anonymous spring water brand). The young woman who runs the till is often seated at the front, her attention consumed by a phone in her hand, and conducts transactions with a frightening efficiency that detracts questions or long-winded conversations about the weather. But what Diamond Bakery lacks in visual elegance, it makes up in spades with the contents of its display cases. Expansive sheet pans of cakes (we're talking square-FEET slabs), enormous buns, flatbreads that are bigger than a human head, white rolls that look impossibly soft and and flaky at the same time, and the aforementioned boxes of rugelach that look as though they've survived a veritable blizzard of powdered sugar.
I ordered a slice of the marbled cake and a cinnamon roll, which I miraculously managed not to immediately open and devour during the five minute walk home. The marble slice had been generously cut and soft enough that my fork slid into it easily. The slightly sweet and crumbly texture reminded me more of angel food cake, with occasional bites laced with just enough chocolate ribbons. The cinnamon bun is not your diabetically-frosted bun from a mall kiosk – those who are looking for an overly sweet snack will be disappointed. Instead, these are a little denser and lightly frosted before rolled and especially delectable when warmed in a toaster oven (that is, if you have the patience to wait). It is also worth mentioning that while these may not be the best cinnamon buns I've ever had, they're certainly one of the biggest, with the bun spilling over the span of my entire hand.
Two enormous breads ran me an extremely reasonable total of $4 (try finding THAT in the city, where even just one of those would run you an even fiver). Even at seven in the evening, there were folks working industriously in the back kitchen, likely baking the source of the scrumptious aromas that were spilling out into the streets. It may be a hole-in-the wall bakery, but they're turning out some delicious things that are worth a visit or two into these outskirts.
Though it might appear inauspicious that a bakery would name itself after one of the hardest rocks known to mankind, I would invite you to come and stand outside of this bakery. Not even step into the store, mind you; just at the corner of the quiet, apartment-lined block where it sits. Very soon, your olfactory senses will be assaulted, like mine was, with the sweet, buttery smells of freshly baked goods and all essayed arguments against carbs and holiday weight gain will promptly fly out the window as your feet are compelled to move with a will of their own toward the door of this tiny, unassuming store.
The bakery is seemingly built without an ounce of marketing care. There is no effort made to decorate and attract customers (indeed, there's barely any space for people to walk as the floors are lined nearly wall to wall with boxes of pastries and there are no fancy cappuccino drinks to pair with your purchase (instead, the lone refrigerator is lined with nothing but bottles of an anonymous spring water brand). The young woman who runs the till is often seated at the front, her attention consumed by a phone in her hand, and conducts transactions with a frightening efficiency that detracts questions or long-winded conversations about the weather. But what Diamond Bakery lacks in visual elegance, it makes up in spades with the contents of its display cases. Expansive sheet pans of cakes (we're talking square-FEET slabs), enormous buns, flatbreads that are bigger than a human head, white rolls that look impossibly soft and and flaky at the same time, and the aforementioned boxes of rugelach that look as though they've survived a veritable blizzard of powdered sugar.
I ordered a slice of the marbled cake and a cinnamon roll, which I miraculously managed not to immediately open and devour during the five minute walk home. The marble slice had been generously cut and soft enough that my fork slid into it easily. The slightly sweet and crumbly texture reminded me more of angel food cake, with occasional bites laced with just enough chocolate ribbons. The cinnamon bun is not your diabetically-frosted bun from a mall kiosk – those who are looking for an overly sweet snack will be disappointed. Instead, these are a little denser and lightly frosted before rolled and especially delectable when warmed in a toaster oven (that is, if you have the patience to wait). It is also worth mentioning that while these may not be the best cinnamon buns I've ever had, they're certainly one of the biggest, with the bun spilling over the span of my entire hand.
Two enormous breads ran me an extremely reasonable total of $4 (try finding THAT in the city, where even just one of those would run you an even fiver). Even at seven in the evening, there were folks working industriously in the back kitchen, likely baking the source of the scrumptious aromas that were spilling out into the streets. It may be a hole-in-the wall bakery, but they're turning out some delicious things that are worth a visit or two into these outskirts.