Same Name, Different Thing
Arif found me pastéis de nata in Toronto. They were called the right thing. They were not the right thing.
By Dibah · June 14, 2026
“It was called pastéis de nata. It looked like pastéis de nata. It was not pastéis de nata. I'd rather wait years for the real one.”
“I found them at a real bakery! They looked perfect. How was I supposed to know?”
He meant it kindly — that's the part that gets me. He was in Toronto, found a bakery, saw pastéis de nata in the window, and thought of me. He brought them home. They looked the same. They were called the same. I took one bite and felt almost nothing.
I'd rather have the real ones in Portugal once every few years than the lookalike whenever I want. It isn't snobbery. It's that the name had made a promise the custard couldn't keep — and a broken promise tastes worse than no promise at all.
It's the same with a beignet tunisien. The best are in Tunisia. A few places in France, run by Tunisians, come close enough that I'll wait until I'm there to have one. When I do, it tastes like 100%.
A name is just a name. “Vanilla” on a supermarket shelf and a real Madagascar Bourbon extract are both legally allowed to call themselves vanilla, and they are not the same thing. So we read past the name now. We ask what's actually in the jar — and then we keep the one that told the truth.
“A shared name is not a shared product. The real one and the one that rhymes with it are different things.”
Arif maintains he was being romantic. He was. He's also never buying me lookalike nata again.
