I’ve thought about what it was that compelled me to go back the next day, this time to the take-out window, for another omelet sandwich, sliced in three segments and set in a little white box of just the right size. And a crispy pork katsu one. And the egg salad one made Instagram-famous by its orange-yellow yolk half-moons. And also the carrots with weirdly good dip that turned out to be blitzed shishitos and pistachios.

I’ve thought about my next visit to L.A., when I vowed not to leave without one of Konbi’s coveted croissants, of which only 36 are made daily. I showed up at 11 a.m.: sold out. I returned early the next morning: They weren’t out of the oven yet. I came back 90 minutes later: The last two chocolate croissants were mine!

This experience should have made me resent Konbi, a place that actually prompted me to describe the process of buying a pastry as Kafkaesque. But I didn’t (obviously). Because as I stood there, on an Echo Park sidewalk in front of the shop next door that sells vegan cheesecakes and crystals, and shamelessly covered myself in the deep-golden crumbs of a croissant so fresh that the ample amount of chocolate inside hadn’t yet returned from its melted state, I knew: This was the best croissant I’d ever had, and it was worth it.

This is the thing about Konbi, a tiny sandwich shop that has received, since before it even opened, an inordinate amount of attention. Its sheer popularity should make it a maddening place (and a maddening choice for best new restaurant). If only everything about it, from the croissants to, yes, the hand soap, weren’t so perfect. —J.K.

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