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!
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.
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 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.
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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