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My name is Kristie, and I’m a French-bread-a-holic.

Its been 8 hours since my last baguette.

I have recently come to realise that I am more than just appreciative of French bread. I am, actually, addicted.

Why? Because French bread actually has flavour. It tastes of bread like grandma used to make, and ovens and fire and toasted goodness. Its not just some flabby, sugary, perfectly square excuse to hold your ham and cheese together.

On the outside, French bread is crunchy or sometimes just lightly crusty. For me, biting into the crunchy exterior of a baguette is so satisfying. Like jumping in a pile of dry leaves, like wringing out a whole sheet of bubble-wrap.

Now that I’m starting to get more involved in French culture, I’m also starting to associate the sound of a baguette crunching with that warm fuzzy sensation of friends, family and sharing close moments together.

And as I mentioned in previous posts, you are supposed to rip pieces of baguette off with your bare hands. These people man-handling their bread, are the same people who eat pizza and bananas with knife and fork. Go figure.

Most areas of Paris or “quartiers” will have more than one Boulangerie available. If one Boulangerie wants to go on holidays, it will organise with the other for it to stay open during that time, and vice versa. French people must NEVER be without fresh bread!

This, of course, does nothing but exacerbate my addiction.

I’m starting to know what time the boulanger (baker) sends out each batch of baguettes at my local boulangerie (so that I can pick up a hot crusty one).

And bread is cheap! It’s less than A$1.80 for a hot fresh baguette (which M says is daylight-robbery when you consider how much they used to cost in French Francs), but I still think it’s a bargain. The French Government even regulates the price of bread to make sure that it’s accessible to even the poorest in the community.

The main problem with my addiction seems to be, ahem, “digestion”. My body is used to the Australian way of living. We dont eat bread with every meal, and when we do, it’s often a minimal amount that includes grains or seeds or “wholemeal”. My body just doesnt know what to do when it gets a delicious white sour-dough baguette in large quantities. And so it sits there, at each digestion stage, waiting for a signal to move on.

For the French, digesting white baguettes is as natural as breathing. One French friend who had been living overseas for many years said that he actually lost weight when he moved back to France and had never felt more “regular”.

For me, going “cold turkey” and giving up bread completely just isn’t an option. Why would I not profit from one of the most fantastic aspects of France while I’m living here? So I have , literally, had to put myself on rations.

But oh, when I hear the call of a hot fresh baguette, it’s a siren song that I cant resist…..