La boulangerie

Baguettes tradition (photo by Michelle Ziling Ou)

Whoever thought buying bread could be so nerve-wracking?

I must have been 14, and awkward at that, staying near Laval (in France) on a French exchange in a family of five boys. The mother of the family, Roselyne, was determined to make me speak French, as that’s what I was staying with the family for! So one day she sent me on my own, on a bike, down to the village to buy the bread.

Beautiful weather, feeling of total liberty, flying on a bike along deserted country roads. Until the realisation of what I’m going to have to do hits me. What am I going to say? What if they don’t understand me? What if I don’t manage to buy the right kind of bread?

I arrive at the bakery, and as I’m parking the bike, the most delicious smell of warm, freshly baked bread wafts around me. I gingerly step up and push open the warped door of the boulangerie. A bell tingles above my head. I blush. The three people in the queue and the woman behind the counter turn and look to see who has come in. I blush even more. ‘Erm, ah, bon-jour’ I stutter. My greeting is reciprocated. So far, so good.

As I wait, I admire the different rows of beautiful pastries, each labelled with, what I imagine is, a mouthwatering description. And then, suddenly, it’s my turn. ‘Oh, erm, bon-jour Madame…’ I blush. She smiles encouragingly, and says something I don’t understand. I plough on. ‘Deux baguettes, pas trop cuites, s’il vous plaît’ is what I had intended to say, as I know that’s what Roselyne says every time, as she says the baker always cooks the bread too long. I honestly don’t know what came out of my mouth. But the reaction was a puzzled smile. Then something clicks and the woman understands - and she says ‘Ahh! Vous êtes… (lots of words I don’t understand) de Madame Le Nail ?’. I nod and smile, very embarrassed. Then she nods and turns, chooses two medium-baked baguettes, wraps a small rectangle of paper around them and tells me how much it costs. This I know already, so I hand over the exact change, for which I am rewarded with ‘Formidable !’. I say thank you, blush for the hundredth time and leave the shop.

I did it, with a lot of help, but I did it!

Now, 30 years later, I live near Paris, and have two bilingual, bicultural sons. And like the proverbial Marcel Proust, I am transported back to that boulangerie in Chémeré-le-Roi, every single time I smell that amazing, warm, freshly baked bread.