Wandering back after leaving a bar in Florence the other weekend was strangely familiar. Coming back Friday night around 2 was no unusual feeling. (Because I’m cool.) Also, I was hungry. Now, around 2 AM on a Friday night at Hofstra any proud Pride patron stops at Dutch Treats. Statistics show that fewer than 3% of Dutch Treats revenue comes from sober students. Perhaps because nobody in their right mind is willing to pay $5 for Pringles, or perhaps because Pringles never seemed more necessary than at 2 AM. In any event, Dutch Treats is a stop on any late night trek home.
Being used to the ability to satiate late night hunger cravings, I was at first slightly upset in having no place cater to my needs. And then I heard the magic words, ”Secret bakery?” Upon asking for clarification, he simply reiterated “secret bakery?” Is “hellz yes” not strong enough of a response? Do I want anything more than to find out what a secret bakery is? Have I already consumed my weight in pastry today? The answer to all of these questions was an overwhelming yes.
According to legend, there are bakeries around town that open up around 1:30 AM. They will serve customers, though they are open to bake goods for the day to supply various other pasticcerias. Closing around 5 AM, the window of opportunity is very limited, though if found certainly a sweet find.
Suddenly, I was transformed into Cartoon Michaela. I was lifted off the ground; my body floating on grey-colored visible beams of aroma the bakery’s sweet smells magnetically pulling me. What magical place was emitting the enchanting aromas?
“We take a left at Mary.” This brought me out of my cartoon-like daze. Looking up, I noticed we were standing in front a giant mosaic of Mother Mary- the obvious landmark for a quest such as this. Giving Mary a quick nod, we made a left.
We were finally there. A Secret Bakery. The sign on the door heeded silence. I can imagine being a mecca for drunken people leaving bars this literal hole-in-the-wall would get rather noisy. Not to mention, the sleeping Italians upstairs. However, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from attempting to sleep in Italy, it’s that Italians love yelling in the streets. While drunken Americans love to sing show tunes at the top of their lungs in the (Florence) streets, Florentine’s love to talk passionately at all hours of the night…regardless the night of the week. But I digress.
Inside the miniature bakery was already filled. Apparently many a person was possessed by their Warner Brothers alterego tonight. Hot freshly baked mini pizzas, warm oozing chocolate croissants, apple filled pastries…really, how could one chose? Dismissing the possibility of buying three of everything, if only due to the fact that I had only coins in my pockets (one of them a nickel), I decided on a chocolate croissant. This is in the top five best decisions of my life. Though, this may say something about my life decisions, it should also say something about how--excuse my Italian-- freakin’ amazing this pasty was.
Walking back to my apartment at 3 AM in the misting night air reminded me of Long Island. I said in a previous editorial that Florence keeps reminding me (be it good or bad) of Long Island. And so, with the familiar feeling of living inside a nimbostratus cloud, I thought hey—what made this walk home better than a walk home at Hofstra. Besides the fact that I was in Italy not Long Island the answer was obvious: warm pastry.
Dutch Treats should start making fresh pastry at 2 AM. While I realize the lovely workers of Dutch Treats may not welcome this openly, perhaps an easier improvement could be made. Simply offering to toast Pop-Tarts from the hours of 2AM to 5 AM would make Hofstra—nay the world, a better place. Nothing satisfies a person at 2 AM after a night out like a warm baked good.
*The actual name of this bakery isn’t Secret, but for all intents and purposes, it might as well be.
No comments:
Post a Comment