So you know that the French word "pain" means bread, right? Good, so the other day, we headed to our favorite bakery (you sense a theme developing here?), Histoire du Pain – or as we like to call it, the History of Pain, only to find it is now Le Boulangerie de Charlotte, a far less intriguing name and much to our great disappointment, an entire universe away from the crusty, chewy baguette de campagne that we used to get fresh from the history's ovens. Quel domage! No, this baguette tasted a bit like the kind you can find in the frozen foods aisle of a German supermarket, just throw in a preheated oven for 10 minutes style – quel horror! Luckily, our other favorite backery across the street, Pleasure of Pain, is still open.
Ingo’s parents had just spent a week here and stocked the kitchen with essentials: cheese, wine, bread. However, Ingo’s dad, born in northern Italy during World War II and taught from an early age to ration and finish every last scrap, still likes his „pane vecchio“ or stale old bread; this being the case, he usually opts for store bought loafs, the kind that will last a week, rather than a fresh baguette. Mais nooooooooooon, sorry but in la Fraaaance, land of pastries, baguettes and delectable baked delicacies we will not be eating long-life bread. Nooooooooon. We will be hitting pleasure of pain everyday, probably twice.
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