French bread is my kids’ favorite kind of bread. And they haven’t even eaten the REAL stuff. I grew up spending the summers camping in France and even on the campsites we’d get fresh bread every morning. The boulanger would drive around in an old van (I’m picturing a Renault 4 with the baguettes sticking out of the open back window, but I’m probably just making that up) and beep to let us know he was there. Other times, it would be the kids’ job to go and buy the bread from the campsite shop and it would take 3 or 4 of us to carry all the baguettes, pains and pains aux raisins we’d need for the day. Even when I was young I appreciated how luxurious it is to have fresh bread every day.
And while we are talking bread, I have to say that I am not keen on most American bread I’m afraid. I can’t stand the ones that are sweetened with honey and sourdough leaves me feeling like I’ve been eating rocks. Large heavy rocks.
A few years ago I was chatting with a friend after we had both just come back from trips to our respective homes back in England. We had both noticed and commented to each other about how much bread and toast the English people eat and we concluded that it was probably because the bread actually tastes good.
While I’m at it, I may as well conclude by mentioning that I once told my husband in no uncertain terms (there may have been yelling) that I did not like sandwiches and he spent many subsequent weekends worrying about what to offer me for lunch if it wasn’t a sandwich. I would like to revise my bold statement and surmise, for the record, that I possibly DO like sandwiches. I just don’t like the bread. Probably.
Anyway, we used par-baked French bread to make our own pizzas and they were good. Yes, even the bread.