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.”
“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!”