Plague (Plahg) Brog, The Great Strudel Adventure

We had a handful of "missions" we decided were essential during our trip to Prague.  They ranged from "Ride Funicular" to "Eat game in elegant setting" to "See Wenceslas' tomb" to "Find THE STRUDEL."

Way, way back, five months ago, we checked out a series of travel documentaries from our little public library.  One was a thirty-minute episode on Prague and though it included a variety of very interesting facts and places (the cafe where you can pay to throw stale donuts at anyone you like, for example), we kind of fixated on the little, one-room, orange-painted, neighborhood Strudel bakery that was located somewhere in the mysterious outer limits of municipal Prague, or, as the ever-positive hostess of the show said, it's "a little off the beaten path."

I mean, look at the SIZE of that thing!

It was clearly the kind of place that no normal tourist would ever know about (+5 points).  It was clearly a "real" experience since the one guy who ran the store obviously understood absolutely no English (+2 points).  And finally, you got what was some of the best apple strudel in the world for around $2...and it was, like, the size of your leg (+1000 points).



We were going to find this place.  We were going to find it and buy a strudel and eat it all right there on the road curb in front.  It was going to be glorious.

We spent nearly an hour online looking for the address of this mysterious strudel bakery, and we found it: confirmed by a picture of the orange paint and the gigantic pastries.  Also confirmed that this place, with no other name than "Strudl" had no phone number or website.  We knew it was a risk to trek into the boondocks without knowing if it even still existed, but we decided to take it (plus there was a review from August 2011, so ...that was good right?).

The day of the Strudel Search was Paul's birthday and that was his dream birthday cake.  And, like, what bakery isn't open on a Saturday morning?  And what dream bakery isn't open on the exact day is has to be open to fulfill a good man's pastry dreams?  I ask you!

I'm sure you've all guessed by now that after walking three and a half miles up and down hills, along freeways, under overpasses, and past sketchy nightclubs with names like "Go Go Go," we found our Strudel Place.  Still painted orange.  Still with its three-item chalk menu (apple, poppy seed, or cheese strudel).  Still with its $2 prices.  Still squeezed in on the first half-floor of a large, communist-style apartment building.

Still...closed since the day before for a vacation.  Not to open again till ten minutes before our train from Prague left the station.

It was so. so. so. sad.

We solemnly vowed, right then and there, that we would someday return and claim our arm-sized strudels! It's going to happen, people.  It's going to happen.

Since it wasn't going to happen that exact weekend however, we "settled" for the jablkovy zavin (apple strudel) of the Cafe Savoy.  A slice only the size of your entire hand for $2, granted.  But, man, if this orange-painted strudel place is supposed to be "The Best Strudel in the World" then I'm at a loss as to how it can be any better than what we ended up "settling" for.  It might, in fact, defy the laws of the universe.

I guess we'll see...

But as for the Cafe Savoy, well, we might have gone back twice within a three hour period to get apple strudel.  The waiter might have rolled his eyes just a leeeeeettle bit at us.  But he can't get perturbed.  He's the one peddling the addiction.  But the cafes are a totally different story, one I'll tell later.