Prompt No. 7 : Panaderia

Every Sunday morning, me and Buelo would leave the house before anyone was awake. It was our Sunday tradition to bring home freshly baked pan dulce for Buela.

We would drive down to our favorite panaderia on Southmost, arriving so early, sometimes the doors were still locked.

The sweet warm smell of baked bread would be floating in the air around us. Making my tummy grumble like crazy.

The panadero would unlock his doors and welcome us in. We were always his first, and favorite, Sunday morning customers.

My Buelo would grab the largest box to fill to the brim with pan dulce. Always letting me make the first choice. I would stand in front of the cases, the top of my head barely reaching the handle, trying to glimpse the rows and rows of warm sweet breads. There were pink, chocolate, and vanilla Conchas, perfectly rounded domes of bread covered in patterned squares of crystallized sugar.

In the next case, there were platters of Cuernos and Elotitos, corn shaped bread filled with gooey chocolate sauce. Right next to that were layers upon layers of crispy, buttery Orejas. These were Buela's favorite, so brittle they crumbled in your hand, melted in your mouth if you could eat them fast enough.

But my favorite pan dulce were the little pockets of pastry full of sweet fruity filling called Empanadas. I could fill up on the sweet pina and the spiced pumpkin. Buelo would buy both, of course, and save me from having to choose.

Before we walked out with our loot, the Panadero would hand me a little pink galleta, still warm from his clay ovens. Then Buelo and I would head home, with crisp white paper bags full of sugary pan dulce to share.