A True, Hearty Loaf Affair
September 5, 2000

It had to be love. How else could I explain my overlooking Robert's crime?  Buying bad bread. I blame the parents. His mother, though an excellent cook, bought bland white bread -- and kept it in the freezer. His father is known to return bread baskets filled with warm foccaccia and soft semolina to waiters, saying, "Toast this."

Could I marry a man who came from a family with such disregard for bread?

Growing up in the Ganzi household, bread ruled. My father, a supervisor at Fink Baking Co. in Long Island City, came home every night with a tall brown bag, warm to the touch. Within minutes, as the rustling of the bag could be heard, my siblings and I were digging in as if it were an oversized box of Cracker Jacks. Unsliced rye, little pumpernickel rolls, crisp Kaiser rolls covered with poppy seeds, sliced whole wheat, and all types of bagels and bialys. My sister, Joan, would call out from in front of the TV, "Daddy, butter me a roll?" He would. It was his pleasure to see us enjoy the fruits of his labor, the bread and butter of the house. Our refrigerator was stocked with salted butter, sweet butter and margarine, lest any starch plane go dry.

So highly was it regarded in our house, bread often masqueraded as a dessert. After eating Fink's cinnamon raisin bread, my mother declared, "Toasted with butter, it's just like cake!"

One night Dad and I baked dinner rolls. I was so anxious to see if they were cooked that I forgot to grab a potholder and scorched my fingers on the baking pan. I ended up buttering my thumb and forefinger before the bread.

Fourteen years of marital bliss with a bread head has changed my husband's regard for the ultimate starch. Our kitchen has an old-fashioned bread drawer and Robert keeps it stocked with hearty, country-style white, seeded rye, and assorted rolls from the Italian Bakery. Barbecues are no excuse for bargain brands in big bags; hamburger rolls must have sesame seeds to be hefty enough to accommodate the meat patties and all the accouterments.

"If you were a restaurant critic," Robert told me, "your rating symbol would be little loaves." Needless to say, any eatery trying to obtain five-loaf status from me would certainly need a substantial bread basket.

I take umbrage with restaurants that neglect their first course. Perhaps you think appetizers prepare the palate? Negative. Dining experiences begin with bread. I recall my favorite haunts by their doughy offerings: the cafe with baskets of cornbread and biscuits, the restaurant that serves a small loaf on a cutting board with a serrated knife, the diner with the good challah.

Traveling allows me to broaden my bread horizons. Except in London. In a pub in Covent Garden, a waitress asked about our sandwich bread, "White or brown?" Why not ask what 'color' wine I want!

But in Paris I was 'breading' at every meal: flaky croissants with perfect cups of coffee, soft baguettes with softer cheeses, sourdough rolls with gourmet dinners.

In Italy the bread is as varied as the dialects of speech: pieces of olives and rosemary hiding in the folds of fresh Tuscan bread, hunks of coarse Sicilian bread mop up flavorful olive oil, and my favorite, ribolliti -- bread soup with vegetables.

This summer we're renting a house in Provence with friends. Every travel book I read mentions the breads almost as often as the wine. In Peter Mayle's book, "A Year in Provence," he writes, "Madame in the Cavaillon bakery sets off on a short tour of the shelves, and then selects a stubby brown banette. While counting out my change, she told me about a restaurant where the chef serves a different bread with each of the five courses on his menu. "I may never return to my Bellmore bread box.

FRENCH TOAST

2 eggs
1/2 cup milk
1 tablespoon cinnamon
4 slices of country-style white bread
Butter
Maple syrup

Mix eggs, milk and cinnamon in a wide bowl. Submerge slices and coat, but don't soak. Melt butter in skillet over medium heat. Place slices in skillet. Flip when underside is golden, adding more butter if necessary. Serve with syrup. Makes 2 servings.