An American in the South of France

“A Bigger Baguette”

Size matters at one French village bakery or boulangerie.

Within Fabrezan circles, Maryse, the baker’s wife constitutes the customer service department, measuring community stature by her unique standards. She’s an unelected official for whom even the Mayor must wait in line. The length of ones ordered baguette is her yardstick. She makes executive decisions one client at a time.

If you are a passing tourist, a foreign summer resident or simply a neighbor who lacks merit in her eyes, you will receive the short end, literally. The bread of life is emblematic of a healthy village in the Languedoc.

A village like Fabrezan with 1000 residents, including stray and kept canines, is fortunate to have its own bakery. Good fortune dictates its terms with a limited bakery menu. Jean, Maryse’s baker-husband determines the selections: plain croissants, croissants with a slice of chocolate wedged inside, apple pastries, baguettes and country-style loafs. All artisan bakers in France must be accomplished in creating an established product line, but creativity is typically limited to larger population centers.

Sunday is the sole day of the week Jean experiments with pastry offerings including Black Forest chocolate and custard cakes, fruit tartes, éclairs, brownies….yes, I’ve sampled them all. These items rarely sell out by day’s end. Curiously, they do sell by day three when their prices have dropped fifty percent. Who says you can’t sell stale sweets?

The best period to appreciate Jean’s baking prowess is between 6:30-7:00 a.m. when the dough is still warm and its aroma wafts to the streetfront luring customers into the shop. Typically, I awake at 8:30 a.m. By then, the dough has cooled and the products have hardened to customary commercial firmness. I wish I were an early riser. Unfortunately, my body rebels at the thought of leaving a warm bed prematurely. An early entrance into Jean and Maryse’s bakery remains my intention each evening before slumber.

During the past two months my own stature has incrementally grown judging by the length of my ordered baguette. Maryse has taken to greeting and thanking me informally in the familiar form of French, a liberty many traditional parents still do not extend to their own children.

I’ve become a steady client and am well regarded for politely opening the door for the daily parade of humanity seeking artisan nourishment. Firmly closing the glass door upon exiting has demonstrated my sensitivity toward their utility savings. Each stray air current costs them a croissant.

There is a substantial difference in texture and taste between Jean’s product and the mass-produced offerings of supermarket chain bakeries. Patrons pay double at Jean’s. However, it is still a modest price for preserving a tradition without preservatives.

I can’t imagine how lucrative a village bakery may be financially. Proprietors don’t embrace a corporate mentality. Starting the workday at 4:00 a.m. is a fast track to an afternoon nap.

Jean and Maryse had their first child last month. Maryse missed two weeks in the bakery. The Mayor’s part-time secretary filled in during her absence. Jean and Maryse named their child Flavey. I still don’t know the gender from this name. Is it a boy, girl or flavor? An accurate response may be several baguettes away.

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An American in the South of France
“A Bigger Baguette” Size matters at one French village bakery or boulangerie. Within Fabrezan circles, Maryse, the baker’s wife constitutes the customer service department, measuring community stature by her unique standards. She’s an unelected official for whom even the Mayor must wait in line. The length of ones ordered baguette is her yardstick. She makes executive decisions one client at a time. If you are a passing tourist, a foreign summer resident or simply a neighbor who lacks merit in her eyes, you will receive the short end, literally. The bread of life is emblematic of a healthy village in the Languedoc. A village like Fabrezan with 1000 residents, including stray and kept canines, is fortunate to have its own bakery. Good fortune dictates its terms with a limited bakery menu. Jean, Maryse’s baker-husband determines the selections: plain croissants, croissants with a slice of chocolate wedged inside, apple pastries, baguettes and country-style loafs. All artisan bakers in France must be accomplished in creating an established product line, but creativity is typically limited to larger population centers.
Sunday is the sole day of the week Jean experiments with pastry offerings including Black Forest chocolate and custard cakes, fruit tartes, éclairs, brownies….yes, I’ve sampled them all. These items rarely sell out by day’s end. Curiously, they do sell by day three when their prices have dropped fifty percent. Who says you can’t sell stale sweets? The best period to appreciate Jean’s baking prowess is between 6:30-7:00 a.m. when the dough is still warm and its aroma wafts to the streetfront luring customers into the shop. Typically, I awake at 8:30 a.m. By then, the dough has cooled and the products have hardened to customary commercial firmness. I wish I were an early riser. Unfortunately, my body rebels at the thought of leaving a warm bed prematurely. An early entrance into Jean and Maryse’s bakery remains my intention each evening before slumber. During the past two months my own stature has incrementally grown judging by the length of my ordered baguette. Maryse has taken to greeting and thanking me informally in the familiar form of French, a liberty many traditional parents still do not extend to their own children. I’ve become a steady client and am well regarded for politely opening the door for the daily parade of humanity seeking artisan nourishment. Firmly closing the glass door upon exiting has demonstrated my sensitivity toward their utility savings. Each stray air current costs them a croissant. There is a substantial difference in texture and taste between Jean’s product and the mass-produced offerings of supermarket chain bakeries. Patrons pay double at Jean’s. However, it is still a modest price for preserving a tradition without preservatives. I can’t imagine how lucrative a village bakery may be financially. Proprietors don’t embrace a corporate mentality. Starting the workday at 4:00 a.m. is a fast track to an afternoon nap. Jean and Maryse had their first child last month. Maryse missed two weeks in the bakery. The Mayor’s part-time secretary filled in during her absence. Jean and Maryse named their child Flavey. I still don’t know the gender from this name. Is it a boy, girl or flavor? An accurate response may be several baguettes away. *RETURN TO HOME PAGE*