When that heaven scented baguette gets stale, which it naturally does within 24 hours of purchase, what does one do with the remaining half or quarter? Its a dilemna. The neighbors no doubt, devoured their baguette at lunch (and would not be caught dead with a dried out speciman for their next repast). They will be going right back down to the village for another, fresh loaf later in the day and I for one want to run right back the hill with them. I can’t help it! I might miss something.

How can I rationalize not finishing this loaf which just hours ago held so much promise, but now seems so dull? And that wonderful artisanal butter from the market. It won’t be tasting that wonderful on a sad old loaf as this surely will be before the sun rises demain matin.

So it’s a problem. Too much of a good thing. That’s the problem with France. Not nasty rude people. Surely not. Could not be more polite and helpul. No, the problem is my inner glutton. And the countless mouthwatering distractions. I confess. I want fresh bread at every turn. I am attached to the outcome. Fresh bread, daily, at every meal. Can you blame me?

That’s a lot of driving up and down the hill. Ah but what a drive, which route, by the river or over the hill and then again, which boulangerie should I go to? Walnut bread or Crustillot? Ficelle or Baguette?

And then of course, the morning croissant. Oh, but that’s only for Sundays! OOOhhhh, how about a chocolatine for breakfast. Mmmmm, what to do?

I can’t decide, so this will have to be continued later…..

(originally written 11 April, 2006)