Have you ever felt a connection to a food?
Something that, with just one bite, takes you straight to places, moments, or people? A taste that makes you smile and wraps you in a warm embrace from within? That’s what golfeado is for me—and for many others, too.
It’s that treat, snack, or pick-me-up that wasn’t part of everyday life, but when it did show up, it transformed everything around it into something unforgettable. And it still does. The beauty of it is that it doesn’t just transform the moment—it transforms you.
My mom, for example, cried—yes, cried—the first time she tasted my golfeados. We were far from home, but in that instant, her mouth filled with memories: of friends, of places, of laughter. Her eyes lit up with joy, and her soul felt the embrace of that flavor.
I was born in Petare—just like the golfeado—and I can assure you, even though you can find this bread all over Venezuela (and beyond), some have earned a special place in the heart. Like the ones from my childhood, famous in Los Teques. Or the last ones I had in Venezuela, from a bakery in Mérida. And, of course… mine.
A Bit of History Baked into the Dough
It’s said that many Canarians came to Venezuela years ago, including my great-great-grandmother. They brought their baking traditions with them, and when those techniques met Venezuelan ingredients, magic happened. The result? A soft, anise-scented bread glazed with raw sugarcane syrup (papelón).
Genaro and María Duarte, siblings of Canarian descent, lived on Calle Libertad in Petare. They baked these spiraled strips of bread—with exactly five turns—flavored with papelón syrup and grated cheese.
The name golfeado came from a regular customer who worked in the local coffee fields. He noticed the bread’s resemblance to coffee beans—locally called golfeao—and its snail-like shape. From there, the name stuck and the bread became a Petare staple.
But in the 1950s, Petare went through major changes—urban development, relocations, goodbyes—and with that, many of the local bakers moved away. This iconic bread, once part of the neighborhood’s identity, vanished for more than a decade.
Thankfully, it was brought back by Portuguese bakers—this time spelled with an “l” (golfeado) and topped with a fresh slice of queso de mano. And it returned to stay.
What Makes a Great Golfeado?
A great golfeado is all about balance—not too much or too little papelón, just the right touch of anise, and a perfect blend of science and love. At our bakery, we make them with sourdough, long fermentations, and a secret trick (here’s a hint: a splash of water or milk on the tray before baking!).
Every golfeado that comes out of our oven is more than just bread.
It’s history.
It’s emotion.
It’s a hug in every bite.
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