It was supposed to be an Argentine Bakery and Pizzeria. In Seattle. But it wasn’t.
Don’t get me wrong, the empanadas were great, and the sweet croissant (a butter croissant, about half the size a regular one, with a light, sweet glaze) was spot on. The latte, “estaba fabuloso”.
It has been a long time that I haven’t been in Buenos Aires, but it wasn’t an Argentine bakery. First of all, it opened at 10 AM, not with the crack of dawn, and at 10, the empanadas were still not done. There were still tables to be wiped. The place wasn’t bursting through its seams with people. There were no gentlemen in suits with longer-than-usual haircuts combed back. No groups of girlfriends laughing. There was nobody passionately making a political point. Nobody talking about “fútbol”.
It was the closest thing, but it wasn’t an Argentine bakery.
Many of our “authentic” experiences are like this, they are the next best thing.