Raspberry coulis joins pistachio sauce as a must-order topping.
Photo: Tammie Teclemariam
It’s proof of frozen yogurt’s complete New York takeover that people are still willing to stand outside for it on a 50 degree night in October. And on 8th Street in Greenwich Village, there are now two competing lines. The first belonged to Culture, a neighborhood standby, which has recently been joined by an interloper from uptown: Madison Fare.
Madison Fare has already earned its reputation as the premiere home for fro-yo on the Upper East Side, where it similarly operates near a direct competitor. Compared to Butterfield Market across the street — which fulfills the taste for a creamy, crowd pleasing swirl with classic ice-cream-shop add-ons like cookie crumbs and sprinkles — Madison Fare’s product is more niche, and more expensive: $9 for a six- ounce cup of perceptibly probiotic small-batch Greek yogurt sweetened just enough to be a base for the crunchy Dubai-inspired pistachio-knafeh topping that first made the corner gourmet store a viral success in the summer of 2024 and has been enticing anyone willing to wait in line ever since.
Madison Fare’s owner, Amin Kinana, originally filled his first shop with cakes, chocolates, and other confections, never intending to be overrun with yogurt lines. But after his fro-yo took off, he pared away his other offerings, got another yogurt machine, and staffed up to handle the crowds. The new downtown shop, by way of comparison, is the yogurt shop he would have opened from the start: toppings-focused, with a Plexiglass wall separating the line of drooling customers from the banquet of sauces, preserves, nut butters, crumbles, candied nuts, berries, and a mountain of honeycomb. At the end of this procession is Kinana, two large machines chilling and churning behind him.
The other night, a trio of self-described neighborhood froyo aficionadas analyzing their cups on the sidewalk said they were unfamiliar with the original store. “The pistachio stuff feels fancy,” one offered. “I like the cinnamon pecans,” said the woman to her left, “the toppings feel more gourmet.” A third member of the group noted a lack of fresh-fruit toppings, but deemed the yogurt “great” overall: “I’m just happy for another fro-yo in the area.”
Inside the shop, Kinana (who like most formally trained pastry chefs, favors an orderly station) was starting to look frazzled as he managed the new outpost alone. The rush was on and by 8:30 pm. — half an hour before closing — he started to worry there wouldn’t be enough yogurt available for everyone in line. He was already struggling to keep up since each of his two machines can only serve four ounces per minute. (A third unit is already on order) He carefully applied customers’ requested lashes of mango or raspberry coulis alongside avalanches of crunchy pistachio sauce, matcha crumble, cardamon walnuts, and yuzu granola.
Another customer opted for a large cup with extra honeycomb after a quick discussion with Kinana, who had been up since 6 a.m. and was trying his best to make sure he closed his shop on time. He asked if I could inform the last person in line that they would be the final customer he served. I did, but that didn’t prevent more people from lining up anyway.
“How can it be? It’s only nine,” a middle-aged woman told me with a look of disbelief as she queued up. “Maybe he’ll have some,” she said hopefully, ignoring what I’d just told her. Kinana, ever hospitable, allowed her to be the final customer, but “I have to be fast,” he said. “What do you want?” “Whatever you have!” she responded, not wanting to miss her chance to try the city’s most famous yogurt. Kinana gave her a medium cup with baklava, pistachio sauce, and candied nuts.
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