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Bread in Paris.


Bread is a serious issue for the Parisians!

We learned very fast after moving in our apartment in St Cloud, that bread wasn’t just bread. The first days we bought bread everywhere we passed a bakeshop on our way home from the Metro station.

I think it was the third day after we moved in that I met my neighbor, in casu the very friendly elderly woman whom lived on the ground floor, greeted me ‘bonjour’ when I came in with my bread.

And after some small talk about where we were from -ah! Des Belges- she asked me ‘the’ question: where do you buy your bread? And that moment I learned that bread is a serious matter for a Parisian!

She explained me that you have to pick your Boulangerie (bakeshop) and stick to it. The neighborhood Boulangerie is more than just a place to get your bread, it’s a local institution with their own protocols and like the local Brasserie (café/coffee shop/restaurant) the place to go as everybody does who lives in the neighborhood.

And I learned fast!

So, the next morning at 6.30 am I went out to find the Boulangerie and noticed that I wasn’t the only one attracted by the addictive smell of fresh baked bread. Honestly just thinking about that smell makes my mouth watering till today. After lining up patiently, because Parisians have their conversation with the woman who are serving.

In Belgium and many other countries I bought bread the shop attendants are students with a part-time job or young girls who are just selling bread. But not in Paris! The people behind the counter are connected with their product. Very often the one who is baking those breads is their husband, father, son,… or are employees who are working with the family for many years.

So that morning I lined up, greeted nearly everybody with a big smile and a ‘Bonjour! But I noticed that I got different bread than the others. They went out with oven fresh warm bread while mine was cold. Why to pick a Boulangerie and stick to it if you are treated differently?

My neighbor came to the rescue again. She explained me that the people in the Boulangerie didn’t know me, I spoke French with a Belgian accent, was obvious somebody who just was passing a vacation in the neighborhood. So why selling the warm bread to a tourist whom, perhaps, is not around anymore in a few days? No, the warm oven fresh baguettes are for ‘les gens du quartier’ (the locals).

Ok, point taken, lesson learned! Time for some strategy planning with my wife.
From now on, and till the time I had to start working we would go to the Boulangerie together. I would stay outside, waving at the attendants, say ‘bonjour’ to the people while my wife was lining up and bought bread. Still the cold one.

The next day same scenario but with a twist: we brought our youngest son. And it was ‘bingo’!
The other mama’s in the line and my wife were talking about where we lived, how many children and were they would go to school. She got out the Boulangerie with warm bread, straight out of the oven and my son was offered a cookie.

Mission accomplished, we were accepted as ‘des gens du quartier’ now.

In those days my wife worked as an ‘aide enseignante’ (assistant teacher) in a kindergarten for three hours a day were she was mostly occupied reading stories and assisting the teacher with the art projects of the children. Having this job gave her something to do every day but most important it helped us enormously with our integration in the ‘quartier’ as all the parents of the children were at the school gate and they became very fast her acquaintances. Same story with the Parent Teachers Meetings in the school of the boys.

After one month my wife could spent hours at the Boulangerie. There was always somebody she knew and everybody has to tell their stories. 



Parisians buy fresh bread twice a day, in the morning and in the evening to eat with their supper. Parisians, in fact all the French, eat bread with every meal.

The Boulangerie has a new load of baguettes from 5.30 pm on till 7.30 even 8 pm. Thus, on my way home from the Metro station it was my turn to buy the bread.

And thanks to my wife and the integration in the neighborhood, I got warm, oven fresh baguettes!

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