Maybe it’s the name, maybe the barista’s Spanish-inflected English or maybe the plant-filled, simple and slightly rustic interior reminding you of Iberian or Latin American interiors seen at the movies. Whichever it is, the feeling remains: in Dorado it’s always time for siesta, whether you arrive at 9 in the morning or 2 in the afternoon.
Even if you have only ten minutes for a quick cortado, there’s no rush. Time strangely seems to become a bit more merciful inside this small oasis in the 7th district. The staff are friendly, professional but unhurried (industrial speed of output is never kind on coffee), there are animated conversations, the large table often shared by a mix of previously unacquainted people, from large groups of friends to the solo traveler slowly sipping their brew and perusing the coffee table books. Speaking of which, it’s fashionable to have them these days in any coffee shop, but Dorado’s small collection is among the few which feel genuinely interesting and carefully chosen.
Besides coffee, pastries are also to be had — don’t miss out on the pistachio and almond croissants, and if you can’t decide on which one to get, do as I once did and get them both. This will only lead to your having to prolong your impromptu downtown siesta, which is obviously the best thing you can do for your soul. (If you’re worried about your body, you can later supplement the siesta with an unhurried walk in the neighbourhood.)
