Aching for Argentina

When I was 17, my father announced that he was taking us to Argentina and Uruguay for a family holiday. A heartily spoilt brat, I was devastated - it was my first time overseas, and in my imaginings, 'overseas' meant walking along the Champs Elysees, not hanging out in a South American timeshare unit. Plus, who wants to be watching tango in Recoleto when you could be puking on the beach with a whole lot of other drunk high school kids?

In my defence, there were parts of the trip that turned out to be pretty awful. Some of it was amazing - like the aforementioned tango-watching, visiting Eva Peron's mausoleum, and being rescued by strapping young man called Alejandro when the Spanish-speaking horse I was trotting on ignored my pleas not to go into the sea (horse-riding on the beach suddenly made organised timeshare activities rather attractive.)

The bulk of the holiday, though, was spent in a place called Carillo. Carillo had all the glamour, pizzazz and bustle of a South Coast town out of season. It comprised the timeshare resort (empty, apparently, except for us and the pool man - more about him later), and to get to the nearest sign of civilisation (a strip mall, where all the shops, besides the grocer, were closed), we had to take a 15-minute taxi drive.

It didn't help that it rained non-stop. Not soft beach drizzle, but inhospitable, grey, stay-inside rain. My sister and I spent all our time playing our own version of backgammon, painting our nails (a manicure a day does not keep the boredom away) and watching the pool man, whom we named Well Hung (as I said, we spent a lot of time watching him). The day I actually got to exchange words with Well Hung was the highlight of the holiday: helping us carry our luggage to the taxi on the happy day we left the resort, he turned to me and said "morrrrr bug?" Words I have carried forever in my heart.

Adding to our misery was the food. My sister left Argentina weighing about 47kg. How we got it so wrong in a country renowned for asado and chimchurri I have no idea. Perhaps it was the language barrier - on one memorable occasion, encouraged by my mother's enthusiastic gushing about the beautiful yellow cheese she had found at the supermarket, I sunk my teeth into a large tranche - only to discover that 'manteca' means butter, not cheese. The saving grace was the discovery of dulce de leche; tubs of thick, creamy caramel we used to scoop out with crisp chocolate biscuits.

In spite of my Argentinian misadventures, I have been dying to try Linden's Bakery of Buenos Aires for ages. Any place that boasts being the home of Johannesburg's best croissant is definitely a must in my book - hence my decision to make it the coffice of the week.

Did it meet expectations? Sadly, as much as I really, really wanted to love it, not quite. It took a while to get service, and when I was finally given a menu, the breakfast options were decidedly uninspiring - mostly combinations of eggs, mushrooms and bacon with a mysterious 'garnish'. So I settled on the Special Sandwich: fillet steak, tomato, cheese and 'Argentinian sauce'. The roll was springy and soft, and the sauce had a pleasing pickled flavour - but the cheese had a processed look to it and, mixed with lettuce and tomato, it reminded me of sad school sandwiches.

After an age, I realised no one was going to offer me pastries, so I made my way to the counter, where I seem to have annoyed the waitress first by asking what was on offer and then ordering a pear tart. It must be said, though, that when the tart came, it was almost enough to redeem the experience: the pastry was flaky and buttery, the pear soft and sticky (that quote from City of Angels, where Meg Ryan tries to describe a pear to Nicholas Cage, came to mind: like sweet sand that dissolves in your mouth.)

Was it coffice material? I don't think so. The mixed crowd included a lot of children, including a little boy intent on making car noises right next to me - a huge distraction when you're trying to meet a deadline. Also, I know this is primarily a bakery so décor comes second, but the cement floors combined with furnishings that may hail from the 70s, plus all that pastry, made for a lot of brown.

Rating:
Crowd: A motley crew - a couple of school kids, some families, some people bent over their laptops
Coffee: Good
Food - Excellent pastries. The food was tasty - but probably not sufficiently enticing to make me return for a meal.
Wi-Fi: Yes
Verdict: I would absolutely come here to satisfy my sweet tooth - great for takeaway teatime treats, as a coffice - not so much.