A Reflection on Bread

What is French cuisine?  When I arrived in Paris last January, I was unable to tell.  For my first three days, I ate nothing by Middle Eastern food.  Halal food galore, crepe not so much.  My first Parisian dinner was a halal kebab, from a Pakistani restaurant.  Then I had a sandwich cleverly named “sandwich chicken”, once again from a halal restaurant.  Then I had falafel.  Even in my second week, I didn’t have the time for anything French. 

This ended in Montmartre, where I had a Nutella crepe.  Still, aside from this, the only French food that is constantly a part of my life is baguette, both in France and stateside.  I should have seen it coming, the lack of diversity in my Parisian diet.  It’s what normally happens. 

Afore mentioned crepe

In France, bread is more than something you buy in a store, it has life.  The people appreciate every simple nuance.  Food is an enjoyment, not sustenance.  A boulangerie on every corner, pâtisseries more numerous than McDonald’s, this is where it’s at.

Bread has life.  It is made new each day.  Fresh butter, real butter.  Its scent reaches out into the street, inviting every passerby into the arms of the warm boulangerie.  Baguette in hand, the walk home is made enjoyable by bites off the top.  This should not be done in any manner, but delicately, with attention paid to the crumbs that are sure to fall into your scarf. 

It’s easy to forget in the US, that your bread had a life before it became yours.  Here, in Paris, that life consisted of organic flour and hours of growth.  Simple ingredients becoming superb.

Bread, the center of every meal

In France, bread is part of the history.  It tells of revolution and religion.  My fixation on bread began my first time in Paris, and continues now.  It inspired a poem:

"Our Daily Bread:"

 Crusty, hard on the outside,

The baguette sits—on the counter—

In the bread basket.

Yesterday’s crumbs still on the table.

A new loaf, the top nibbled

            Off—customarily—on the walk

Home from the boulangerie.

This culture revolves around pain

It was the cause of revolution

Now, a day cannot pass sans pain

Donne-nous chaque jour notre pain quotidien

Every day an eating of bread,

Mass— an eating of the Christ-body

Religion, like bread—

Hard to understand.  Inside comforting

But if forgotten for too long—

useless.