O menu de local é recomendado para os amantes da culinária. O serviço bom é algo que os visitantes apreciam aqui. Há uma atmosfera encantadora no local. Padaria Vista Bela obeteve 4.3 no sistema de classificação do Google.
Excelente atendimento e as funcionárias do balcão atendem com maior amor e carinho todos clientes.Muito bom tomar café da manhã nesse lugar maravilhoso. Service: Dine in
An excellent place known to my family and here in the neighborhood for many years, quality service... Although each place is an excellent place. But for me, Padaria Vista Bela deserves a quote from a poem... Praise of the Shadow Old age (such is the name others give it) It could be the time of our happiness. The animal died or almost died. What remains is man and his soul. I live among luminous and vague forms that are not yet darkness. Buenos Aires, that once spread in suburbs towards the unceasing plain, became La Recoleta, the Retreat, the imprecise streets of Once and the precarious old houses which we still call the South. In my life there have always been too many things; Democritus of Abdera gouged out his own eyes to think; time was my Democritus. This dim light is slow and doesn't hurt; flows down a gentle slope and it feels like eternity. My friends have no faces, women are what they were so many years ago, the corners can be different, there are no letters on the pages of the books. All of this should scare me, but it is a delight, a return. From the generations of texts that exist on earth I will only have read a few, the ones I keep reading in my memory, reading and transforming. South, East, West, North the paths that brought me converge to my secret center. These paths were echoes and footsteps, women, men, agonies, resurrections, days and nights, between dreams and dreams, every last moment of yesterday and the yesterdays of the world, the firm sword of the Dane and the moon of the Persian, the acts of the dead, the shared love, the words, Emerson and the snow and so many things. Now I can forget them. I arrive at my center, my algebra and my key, to my mirror. Soon I will know who I am. Jorge Luis Borges