Milk Bar, the NY-based sister bakery to Momofuku, surprised Washingtonians by flinging open the doors to a new confection-laden shop at City Center this morning. We were wondering if the sweets actually live up to the hype, so we sent DCist cookie correspondent Jacob Dean to find out. He emerged from the line two-and-a-half hours later, dazed and laden with desserts.
2:25 PM: I’ve just walked to the back of the line at Momofuku Milk Bar after checking out the front door. About 150 people are in line, which snakes around the corner and down the block. The mood is somewhere between excited and grumpy.
2:30 PM: There is a security guard monitoring the line. Are they expecting unrest? My experience is that people willing to wait in line for dessert for more than 15 minutes are generally pretty laid back.
2:35 PM: I ask the person behind me to hold my place and approach the security guard to ask about how the day has been going. He looks extremely uncomfortable and declines an interview, stating that City Center rules say he’s not supposed to talk to anyone.
2:45 PM: My Parkmobile app informs me that my parking is about to expire. I have been here for 20 minutes and have moved 10 feet. Being a food writer isn’t always glamorous, folks.
2:51 PM: A Milk Bar PR rep is handing out samples of Cereal Milk™ soft serve. She declines to give her name, but says that “it’s a signature Milk Bar item. It’s like the milk at the bottom of a sugary bowl of cereal that we make into a soft serve.” The soft serve melts quickly but is dense while maintaining an incredibly smooth texture, and is definitely true to its name.
3:01 PM: The line behind me is now snaking even further down I street towards 9th. I hear the PR person say that the City Center building managers told them that if the line reaches Gucci, there’s going to be a problem (the line has almost reached Gucci). I am curious about how one tells people waiting in line for cookies that they’re causing a public disturbance.
3:02 PM: My parking has officially expired; my enthusiasm will shortly follow.
3:05 PM: Two Crossfit-looking guys in Tesla t-shirts, one red, one grey, walk up to the line and ask someone ahead of me what we’re all waiting for. The line stander’s response is inaudible, but Red Shirt says, incredulously, “cookies and milk?” Grey Shirt adds: “America!” They walk away, shaking their heads.
3:10 PM: The girl in line behind me is talking loudly on her cell phone. “How long are you running for?…8 miles? Well, I’m in line for dessert.”
3:16 PM: I can now see into the store through the window. “Look, there are their bagel bombs!” says the blonde attorney in front of me (I have been eavesdropping). The bagel bomb sign says that they are “our bagel dough filled with a smoky bacon-scallion cream cheese, topped with everything bagel spice.” This is what the future looks like people, and it’s golden brown and covered in poppy seeds and dried onion.
3:36 PM: I have rounded the corner. The front door is partially blocked by a red velvet rope that looks like it was stolen from an AMC movie theater. Christina Tosi, Milk Bar head chef and co-owner, is standing by the front counter enthusiastically greeting guests.
3:51 PM: The police have blocked off 11th and H Street, just one block up. Incoming Presidential motorcade?
3:53 PM: The police cordon has been removed and President Barack Obama has not come to Milk Bar. At this point he’d probably be the only person anyone would let skip the line.
4:04 PM: I have made it in the front door. Acoustic music from Colin Hay washes over those inside.
4:09 PM: The incredibly slow line appears to fall largely on the shoulders of Postmates, whose delivery people are picking up massive orders and seemingly have the ability to skip the line. Take note Milk Bar: enabling delivery for launch day was kind of a big fuck you to all the people who showed up in person.
(note: Milk Bar spokesperson Brooke Aronoff followed up to say it is not their policy to allow the delivery service to cut the line. “Our staff already knows that Postmates have to wait in line just like everyone else, and we have reiterated it this morning as well! This should not happen again!)
4:16 PM: To My Editor,
My ambitious journey to the shores of “Milk Bar” has proven vexing. While the journey itself was without trouble, delays at the border are intolerable. The natives, hospitable though glacial in pace, are no match for the roaming velocepede-mounted merchants known as “Postmates,” who have thrown the fragile society into chaos. It is clear that doing business with this nascent republic is fraught with difficulty, and that the largest impediment is time itself. One can only hope that as the wheel of time grinds slowly onward, the operational and bureaucratic difficulties which have stymied my own mercantile ambitions will be resolved. Though I slowly approach the end of my journey, I fear I shall never make it back, and that I will be imprisoned in this cookie-scented Bastille for the rest of my days.
Your loyal journalist,
Jacob Dean
(Editor’s note: er, you OK there, Jacob?)
4:33 PM: STILL WAITING.
4:45 PM: Christina Tosi herself has taken my order: six cookies (two compost, one of everything else; 12 birthday truffles; and a slice of crack pie). She is warm and friendly, and I congratulate her on the opening. As she turns toward the side of the bakery she calls out “how’re you feeling guys?” Her crew immediately responded “feeling good!”
4:51 PM: Cookie time.
