April 2009     

Yes, I was spoiled growing up in Europe and being able to consume copious amounts of good bread.  Baguette and croissant in Paris, Semmel and dark rye in Munich, panini in Venice — you get the picture.

If I don’t stop at Fairway after work to pick up their really decent version of baguette, I know I’m stuck with what the rest of America is eating.  Tasteless wheat, white or rye. 

I recently picked up my daughter Rachel and a couple of her friends from an all day music festival.  Her friend Krissy had much to say about her day with Rachel.

Krissy: “I thought we were there to listen to music.”

Me: “Why, what happened?”

Krissy: “Do you know that Rachel had an agenda?  She lined up the bands she wanted to see but also had times logged in for lunch and dinner.”

I smiled.

“What was dinner?” I asked.                                                  

Krissy:  “Philly cheesesteak.”

I looked at Rachel, gourmet eater extraordinaire.

Me: “How was it?”

She shrugged “Ok.”

Rachel: “I’m really hungry now, though. (It was nearly 11 p.m.)  I’ve been hungry all day!”

Krissy looked at her.  “Didn’t you have breakfast?”

Rachel: “Yeah, I had a piece of white bread.”

Krissy: “What do you mean white bread?  You took out a slice from a package of Wonder bread?”

Rachel: “No, my Mom made bread.  I had a piece.”

Krissy: “What do you mean your Mom made bread?”

Rachel: “My Mom made bread.”

I looked at Krissy in the rearview mirror.  She was very quiet.

Krissy: “You mean flour and water?”

Rachel: “Flour and water and yeast.”

Krissy, “Oh, right yeast.” 

Krissy started to giggle.” I can’t believe your Mom made bread!”

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