Bakeries have always been a place of joy to me, next to everything that is divinely greater, God, Family, Heaven. We tend to forget the magnificent efficacy derived in the satisfaction only a freshly made loaf can give us. I do anything for freshly served le pain.
You are looking at one of the reasons we moved to France. Bread, aka le pain. It’s a quality-of-life thing: we figured that even if we had to put our careers on hold, at least we’d be able to enjoy fresh bread every day. Lovely, crusty, light-as-a-feather baguette right out of the oven. Sans preservatives, as I memorably informed my late mother-in-law.
There is a boulangerie on every street corner in Paris and at least one in every village. In thousands of mom-and-pop shops from Nantes to Nice, the baker is at the ovens in the wee hours every morning, and you can buy a warm baguette from about 6:30 a.m. Such unfailing devotion is encrusted* in the very fiber* of le boulanger.
One of my first challenges in France was being able to go into the local bakery and buy what I wanted. There…
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