A leige waffle sandwich, with fried egg, bacon, tomato, and basil

Am I above driving an hour just because a new bakery in Vista has a funny name? I am not.

To be fair, the place is called Glutenus Maximus Bakehouse, which manages to be a pun about butts, gluten sensitivity, and Roman gladiators. Okay, maybe not the gladiators, but your mind can go all kinds of places in the car for an hour.

Glutenus Maximus Bakehouse, new to Vista

When I got there, I found a sunny little shop with a glass counter stuffed with pastries, many of which, it turn, were stuffed with goodness, such as vanilla custard or chocolate hazelnut spread.

It all started with Leige Waffles, according to a sign next to the Leige waffles in the case. The Leige style suggests they're made with beet sugar, which crystalizes the crust to make these handheld waffles pretty crispy. You can order them plain ($5), but when you're in a pace called Glutenus Maximus, there's bound to be a more indulgent way to eat it, and I found that in the Leige waffle sandwich: bacon, fried egg, tomato, and basil ($12).

Bacon ends were hanging out of the front of this thing like squid tentacles, and it was pretty tasty, if you're a fan of the sweet plus savory bacon motif.

My preference would be the ham & cheese croissant ($7). Or better yet, the jalapeño, ham, and cheese croissant ($7). Because, beside Leige waffles, this bakery's other specialty turned out to be pastries made with buttery, laminated dough, beginning with a reasonably good plain (a.k.a. butter) croissant ($5).

A plain, or "butter croissant"

The laminated dough stuff only gets more interesting as you drift right in the glass case, and croissants give way to morning buns and cruffins—which are sort of like cinnamon rolls and koign-ammans, respectively. However, pay close attention to this section, because beyond cinnamon and sugar, these treats are baked with daily variations such as tiramisu, cardamom and vanilla, and even spanakopita.

I did drive a long way, so I wasn't going to leave without trying a donut, even if they did cost 5 bucks (or about 4 bucks more than a regular donut). To be fair, a blueberry cheesecake filled donut might go for $2 or $3 some donut shops, so I didn't feel too bad about my order, nor the fact I gulped it down fast. I probably should have savored that one.

A chocolate hazelnut babka, morning bun, and blueberry cheesecake filled donut

And I probably should have hidden the $10 chocolate hazelnut babka from the kids when I got home. That's a pull-apart sweet brioche loaf with a rich vein of chocolate hazelnut spread. Too big to finish in one sitting (having already eaten a waffle sandwich, croissant, filled donut, and morning bun), I'd hoped it would keep to pair with my next morning's coffee. Instead it made for an after school snack. Our middle schoolers may not have been appreciative enough how far I went to bring them this treat, but at least they appreciated the Maximus joke.