And at Muntaner, 363
Crusto is unforgiveable. I stumbled upon this fucker and stood aghast. A more gorgeous selection of mouthwatering baked goods I have never before seen in all my years of breathing.
There is a massive choice of breads to start with: from slabs of focaccia with tomato to multifaced cottage loaves with different seeds on each facet, to wholegrains so whole and grainy they could win awards for wholeness and grainyness in the global whole and grainy awards ceremony for the wholegrainest things in the whole grainy world. Rustic boulders studded with seeds, crusty rolls, wholegrain ciabattas, sliced organic bread, spelt bread, bread seasoned with onion, with cheese, with olives with nuts. Dark brown round loaves with fascia like the Earth’s crust, and a dozen types of roll, individual quiche and pizzas.
There are sandwiches constructed from said breads – and even a cheese one for vegetarians – served on gorgeous pumpkin and sunflower seed encrusted baguette or sliced rustic brown bread.
As for the cakes, I don’t think I can delineate the sheer wonder of these creations without employing some of the most offensive expletives known in the English-speaking world.
Different varieties of magdelenas, muffins glazed with hazelnuts and mini meringues, the most amazing fruit tarts I’ve ever laid my tired and perverted fucking eyes upon. A pear tart so divine and covered in chunks of glazed pear that it should appear in a pornographic periodical. Thick wedges of strudel pregnant with plump sultanas and glistening beneath a sweet glaze and a sprinkle of icing sugar. Different types of coca breads covered with seasalt and rosemary or chocolate chips or sugar crystals. Planks of focaccia bursting with caramelized onion, tomatoes or beneath salt crystals.
I think my blood sugar just reached critical levels just writing this. I went in and managed not to eat anything. I feel slightly ashamed.
They also serve fresh juices of orange, apple, carrot or celery if you want to ignore the hideous display of baked produce or just damage control after a pastry binge.
The inside is gorgeous: bright, airy, beautifully laid out and industrious. Old grey and white tiles line the floor and a giant mirror sits against an exposed brick wall. A massive clock is suspended from the ceiling on a chain like a pocketwatch for Gargantua.
There are some lovely old and lovingly battered wrought iron and marble tables at which to eat with a long distressed bench along one wall. Seems to be dog-friendly (or maybe only if you are a hideous rich woman with a real fur coat), but there is a terrace of several tables outside for warmer days.
You can see the industrious kitchen at the back when the poor women have to spend all day in the presence of pastry gods and too much temptation.
Truly amazing unhealthy products that should be enjoyed in moderation but in the knowledge that they are lovingly crafted using decent quality ingredients. Alternatively, you could gorge yourself ridiculous on them. Your choice.
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