One rushed afternoon in San Francisco, I took a bite of this croissant at Tartine Bakery, leaned back in my chair and thought: “How wonderful the world would be if there was a Tartine in every city.” Of course, we would then need to clone Chad Robertson. Multiple times. An even more wonderful world.
A somewhat selfish but definitely more reasonable version would be: “How wonderful my world would be if there was a Tartine in Istanbul, preferably on the corner of my street.” I’d come home every day with a sourdough loaf under my arm, stop by every morning for a croissant and probably have brunch there every Sunday for the rest of my life.
I knew I’d feel this way, so when I started looking for a place to stay, I did my best to find a decent one within walking distance of Tartine. The area has changed a lot since I last visited, but one thing remained the same: Not a single decent B&B within my price range. I wanted nothing more than to have breakfast there every day, but I can’t even bear the thought of spending 20 minutes on a bus in the morning. Not before my third coffee.
Sadly, I visited Tartine only once. And I ate all I could.
