This Is Not a Levain Cookie Review

Bond Street's uneven walkway and my unreliable ankles had other plans.

Writer’s Note: This essay was written on July 4.

A collection of framed magazine and newspaper articles humbly hung on the white brick wall in front of me as I sat down to eat my chocolate chip and walnut cookie in one of the most famous bakeries in New York. New York Magazine, Bon Appetit, Travel + Leisure, Women’s Health: Everyone has written about the cookies at Levain Bakery.

The articles speak of Levain’s humble beginnings. Pam Weekes and Connie McDonald met in the ‘80s and bonded over their love of swimming and baked goods. They made these six-ounce cookies—all the articles stress the weight of these cookies—as a post-workout snack when they were training for their various exercise endeavors. (I guess they were big triathlon and Ironman gals… or something. Couldn’t be me! I prefer “rewarding” myself with sweet treats regardless of the level of energy I exert. But respect, nonetheless.)

So they fueled their workout sessions with these massive cookies, and sooner or later they begin to sell them. They’re suddenly this big success. The New York Times loves them and raves about them. Every other publication follows suit. The rest is chocolate chip-studded, ooey gooey history.

As I nibbled on my buttery, chocolate chip and walnut hockey puck of a cookie and read the many articles on the wall, I thought to myself: nobody needs to read another review of this place.

Twenty minutes earlier, however fortunately and unfortunately for me, I had dropped the original cookie I purchased from Levain on the uneven crosswalk of Bond Street. Hundreds of articles exist about the quality of Levain’s cookie themselves, but fewer exist about dropping the cookie on the street. Today’s article is about that.

I had spent most of the holiday morning doing absolutely nothing. Besides journaling about the week’s notable events, I laid in my bed for hours on end dillydallying and being an unproductive member of society. Living in New York has made me keenly aware of how I spend my downtime. Unlike a smaller, more familiar city where I have a closer relationship to the restaurants, bars, and venues I frequent, being in New York for such a limited time has charged me with an unrelenting sense of carpe diem, every diem. And if I failed to carpe the diem, I am wasting my metropolitan youth!

So I decided to take a walk to Levain, A) to motivate myself to get outside and B) to see what all the cookie fuss was about.

Young adults and families waited in line with me. The folks behind the counter were noticeably kind and smiley. The vibes were good; I ordered and received my cookie. I left the bakery with a plan to find a park to eat the cookie in.

At this point you can guess where this is going. But before I bring you there, let me tell you a little fact about myself.

I am 5’2. I don’t like the fact that I am 5’2. I rarely wear shoes without heals or a little platform boost, because of that aforementioned fact. Another fun fact: I have wobbly ankles. What does that do to a girl who only wears platform or healed shoes? That makes her trip on herself and on the ground. A lot. So not only am I short, I am a clumsy short girl masquerading as a two-to-four-inches-taller-depending-on-the-heel-height clumsy short girl.

On this fabled day I was wearing a Steve Madden black platform sandal. With the royal blue cookie bag loosely in hand, I crossed the cobbled Bond Street. While crossing, my foot must’ve stepped unequally on a crack on the street and rolled, because I took a minor tumble, and so, too, did the recently purchased chocolate chip and walnut cookie. Damn Mr Steve and damn the unreliable crosswalk that is Bond Street.

All that I had time to utter pathetically was “oh no!” before I realized I was obstructing traffic. That five dollar cookie laid helplessly on the cobbled cracks for only a few seconds before I picked it up and went on my way. A girl in a workout suit passed me during this debacle and paid no mind. I almost wanted her to feel sorry for me or say something, to validate the loss of this cookie I had ventured out into the streets for.

In a fit of shame, I continued walking, didn’t turn back. But the cookie was still in my hand. Would I be lying if I said I almost, for just a second, thought about eating the street cookie? No.

“Nina, that’s disgusting.” Ok… The moral of the story is that I didn’t eat the street cookie. But the idea of shamefully walking back and asking for another one was too embarrassing to bear, and for a few blocks I was ready to never return to Levain Bakery again, as if they were the reason for my unreliable ankles.

Then, I texted my roommates and explained the issue to them. They encouraged me to return and request another. So I did. I make my way down Lafayette Street, yet again, and pass the diners on the patios I had seen moments before The Great Street Cookie Catastrophe of 2022. I join the line of Levain patrons, and explain to another employee my dilemma. He immediately swaps out the street cookie for a fresh one and shows me the sympathy and humor the exercise set girl on Bond Street oh-so lacked.

I’m back at that same high top eating the cookie. You can tell it was baked within the hour, a soft center of dough and shiny pools of chocolate chip ooze out upon first and second bites. The outer, buttery crust is delightfully crisp yet tender while the inside gushes with beautifully baked dough. It’s a good fucking cookie.

Is it the best? Even if I didn’t drop it and have to ask for another I’d still say that it wasn’t the best cookie I’ve ever had. I’m more akin to a Claire Saffitz brown butter chocolate chip cookie. Claire’s cookies feel a bit lighter while still being these ginormous hunks of chocolate and sugar. Levain’s was perhaps too soft for my liking, but I understand the widespread appeal, and I am glad to have finally gotten the chance to observe the hype.

…

Thanks for reading!

This week I’m loving:

Music: Sticky by Drake

Food: Ice cream trucks parked on New York City streets shelling out soft serve

Sneakers aka any shoe without a heel: I have a major blister from sauntering around NYC in inappropriate-for-walking shoes.