Ask yourself this: Should you feel weird eating in a former funeral home? Maybe! But the moment you walk into Tartine, all those spooky thoughts get blasted away faster than a croissant in a wind tunnel. This place is so bright, so warm, and smells so aggressively delicious, you’ll forget anything ever died here—except your diet.

You stroll in, order at the counter like a normal human being, and suddenly you’re wrapped in the aroma of butter, herbs, toasted bread, and the faint sound of your willpower crumbling. Located at 1925 Arizona Avenue in Santa Monica, Tartine even has parking—which in LA basically makes it a miracle.

For dinner? PIZZA. Glorious pizza. The Pepperoni with plum tomatoes, mozzarella, and basil is a slice of happiness wearing a crispy outfit. And the Cacio e Pepe pizza? It’s basically a Roman pasta crashed into a cheesy, peppery flatbread and said, “Let’s run away together.”

While waiting, you can sip a cocktail and pretend you’re a chic European person with interesting opinions about olive oil.

The All-Day menu is where things get dangerous. That omelette with soft herbs and white cheddar? It tastes like a cloud went to culinary school. The quiches—veggie or bacon—are perfect, smug little wedges of comfort. And the tuna sandwich? It’s so good, you’ll start judging every other tuna sandwich you’ve ever met.

But let’s be honest… you came here for the pastries.

• The Country Loaf: whole grain, custardy middle, dramatic crust—it’s the Beyoncé of bread.
• The Croissant Loaf: a loaf of bread and a croissant had a baby, and it’s flawless.
• The Pain au Jambon: ham + cheese + butter = the holy trinity.
• The Pain au Chocolat: simple, elegant, irresistible—like a French person who always looks good in stripes.
• The Morning Bun: orange zest, cinnamon, sugar—basically a cinnamon roll that went to finishing school.
• And the Banana Cream Tart? Oh my. Chocolate + caramel + pastry cream + bananas + sweet cream = a dessert that hits you with so much joy you momentarily forget your own name.

So no, Tartine does not feel like a funeral home. It’s more like a carb-filled hug, a buttery sanctuary, a pastry paradise where the only thing being laid to rest is your self-control.

To us, it’s not a mortuary—
it’s home sweet home… and also home sweet croissant. 🥐✨