Awful! There. I said it.
I took some time to think about this before posting a review, because of how shockingly awful the items I bought were. A couple weeks have passed and I am ready to face what happened, deal with it, and put it all behind me.
The young woman at the counter was friendly and helpful. I asked for recommendations since I've never eaten any of the colorful and beautiful Mexican Pan Dulces I've seen for 40-odd years in Arizona. (Yeah, I know. I have no excuse.) I asked her for 2 "of the best."
The first one was a crispy, flakey "Orejas" (Puff Pastry Ears). It had a nice sweet cinnamon flavor, but was so dry and brittle that each bite brought on an explosion of dry Orejas dander flakes that covered my beard and shirt. I had to dust off between bites, but I persevered. I'm thinking, "Is that normal? Am I doing something wrong here?." I just might eat one of these again, but I would break it up over the sink first, and dunk it in my coffee before going in for a messy bite.
The next pan dulce was a Marranitos (Molasses Gingerbread Pigs), which is supposed to be, according to Wikipedia, "Moist and rich-tasting beneath a glossy, ever-so-slightly flaky top. Not quite cookie, not quite cake." Sounds delightful!
But... THIS porcine abomination was as dry and nasty and bitter as the Mojave desert. I could barely chew and swallow the first bite! (I swear I'm not embellishing here.) I decided I needed third-party validation. So, I put it on a plate and cut several several small pieces off. Without saying anything, I enlisted my adult daughter and her always-hungry friends to eat a piece and tell me what they thought.
The looks on their faces as they tried to chew the piggy pastry filled me with guilt. No one would eat a second piece! Their collective scowls haunt me to this day. I left what was uneaten on the counter uncovered for 3 days. Not even the sugar ants would go near it. Mother Mary and Joseph was that thing bitter!
I photographed what was left of the piggy's body and posted it here before sending him to his final resting place en la basura.
Finally, there were the deceptively beautiful croissants I bought. They were nearly rock hard. At first I thought maybe they just had a crispy firm exterior. Oh, no. They were solid! I sliced them clean through with a dull bread knife without one single flake off or dent to the exterior. I don't think a French baker could make one like that if he tried. They were simply inedible like that. I had to either steam them, or use an old line cook's trick of buttering and flat-griddling them, with a fine spray of water, then cover the pan with a dome, just to make them chewable. I did the latter... Surprise! The flavor was good! (But what bread that's flat-griddled in butter isn't oh so tasty?)
And to boot, everything was so pricey.
I don't know anything about the other food they serve. They had no regular menus or take out menus -- just a big video screen with pictures of food selections.
The counters by the cash register were stacked with Mexican dulces, and other items that give the feel of a mini-mart instead of a restaurant. They would not allow me to take pictures inside of "The Hole." (I didn't yet know of the baked good horrors to come when I asked about taking photos. But now, I think I understand the rule.)
And lastly, outside on the front wall, right next to their "The Donut Hole" wooden sign, was a GIANT poster of young, tough looking Latino men with a bold caption that reads "LIFE AFTER METH."
Oooooo-kay
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