France vs. North Carolina, Round 1 - the Baguette Battle
I realize this going to get annoying, this starting many a sentence with “In France...” I’ve been doing it a lot lately. I know it’s obnoxious.
But truly, see if you don’t spend nearly two weeks roaming around any country and see if it doesn’t affect you in deep ways. Ideally, we would have been there longer, but, alas, my husband and I have jobs and dogs and graduate school to come back to. We stayed as long as we could.
While it is nice not living out of a suitcase, one of the many things I miss is the daily ritual of buying a baguette (along with high-speed trains and superb public transportation, three-course prix fixe dinners that start with an kir as an aperitif and end with cheese, and yes, really polite people even as they push to get on the Metro). At a certain point of the day - as people make their way home from work, perhaps - about every third person you see on the subway or the bus or the street has a baguette in hand. It’s also commonplace to spot people munching on the end of their baguette before they get home. The French don’t generally snack on the street - tearing off the end of a baguette seems to be an exception. Often, there’s no wrapping except for a thin piece of paper around the middle (that’s where you hold it). The French really don’t seem to worry about germs as much as Americans do. And they’re not throwing away another piece of trash when they get the bread home. There’s no way it lasts much beyond a day anyway. A good baguette is ephemeral. It wilts after about 24 hours.
I probably had at least a little baguette each day I was in France, and not all of them were good. Some were fantastic. But some were distinctly disappointing, with a wan crust and vaguely chemical-tasting interior. That’s a big non, non.
We don’t have high-speed trains that run through Winston-Salem (such a shame). But, we do have some good baguettes, and specifically those from Ollie’s Bakery (shown above). They have a nice chew and tug to them, and a distinct tang, and a lovely burnished, crunchy crust. I ate some with week with simple lunches of leftover roast chicken and salad greens with homemade vinaigrettes, and thin slices of Comte. Farther afield, I think the baguettes from Weaver Street Market in Carrboro are mighty fine. Whenever I am passing through, I like to buy a couple and throw them in the freezer. And baguettes from both places stand up to some of the best bread I had in France.
We do pay more for them, though. The Ollie’s baguette I bought this week came close to $2. In France, the idea of a 1 euro (= about $1.57 today) baguette seems to horrify some people, as if they are somehow entitled to them cheaply just for being French. Which I can’t argue with.
Oh, and a bit of French table etiquette: the French never - jamais - place a slice of bread on their plate as they eat. Perhaps in fine restaurants there are bread plates. But the table seems to work for the French most of the time, in an indefinite location somewhere between their wine glass and the edge of their plate. Wiping your plate squeaky clean with bread is strongly encouraged.
