I had parked by Agan's Bakery, an old brick shop along the old town strip close to the building labeled "Butcher Shop." I was excited because along with the charm and quaintness of old Cartersville (one of its only saving graces), it actually had an operational bakery. I had never been but I had seen its 1970s pale orange lettering every time I drove through. I walked in the door, not quite sure if they were open.
I entered to find there were no chairs or tables. Three glass display cases bordered the foyee and there were no menus or prices listed anywhere. There was a small handful of cakes displayed, a few breakfast pastries, and a small smattering of pies on the thin top shelf to my right. And despite my optimism, things looked dismal.
I searched for croissants but to no avail. I looked at the girl behind the counter who was rather young and not entirely enthralled with the idea of working in a bakery for the rest of her life. Her somewhat cheerful smile could not completely disguise her lack of legitimate enthusiasm. Yet she was the only one who could reveal to me where the tasty, buttery, flakey, sweet French pastries were horded. With a slight grin she asked me how she could be of assistance and I asked if they had any croissants.
She apologized first which could have lead to many other following statements like:
"I'm sorry, but we ran out! There will be some tomorrow!"
"I'm sorry, but they all were scorched because our baker is German!"
"I'm sorry, but the only one we have is plastic."
But no. She just flat-out told me that they didn't have any. I tried to mask my horror and disbelief with a dash of self-deprecation and endeavored to search for something else. I gazed through the abysmally small selection of much inferior pastries, staring at each one hoping to turn them into chocolate croissants with my eyes.
I decided to choose the apple bread that looked like a muffin but was, in fact, not. I figured it would be inexpensive but I still wasn't impressed with the lack of price display. I asked for a cup of coffee and did not see her prepare it nor even did she bestow me a small vessel for it. The total for my breakfast was $2.12, which pleased me seeing as I received a heaping pile of disappointment for free just by walking through the door. I gave a smile and thanks and then miraculously found where I could get my coffee. Two pump carafes were sitting on a small table next to an automated cappuccino machine, like the kind you get your quasi-coffee from at the waiting room of the ER. The Styrofoam cups were directly behind the carafes with the equally sorry looking lids. I saw a canister of powdered non-dairy creamer before I saw the liquid creamer cups underneath.
The best I can say is that at least the coffee was hot.
I retreated to the bench outside the building next door and removed said apple bread from the little white paper bag. I noticed the sugary glaze that covered most of the pastry and considered it rather unnecessary. Tearing off a warm piece and popping it into my mouth, I was greeted with a soft chewy fresh-baked texture, the sweetness of sugar, and the subtle savory kick of cinnamon. My next bite had a baked apple in it, syrupy and sugary. The bread was not as good as I had hoped for ( I had not anticipated much but I was still hopeful) but it was not entirely disappointing.
My visit to Agan's Bakery was a blow to my optimism. I left feeling cheated, aghast, and felt that this particular bakery was a sham. I could not, and still don't, believe that they didn't have croissants. Is that not a bakery staple? They didn't even have eclairs. All in all, this glorified donut shop should suck it up and change their name because it is incredibly misleading.
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