Boulangerie Bèle.
It's Sunday morning, 11:40 am. I'm speed-walking down the street toward Boulangerie Bèle, cutting my normal walking time from 15 minutes down to 10. Families pushing strollers down the street, those hyper-motivated Sunday morning runners, and old men sitting in front of their houses jet a glance at me and are probably wondering either one of two things: this girl is training for the 20km Racewalk for the 2012 Summer Olympics (wha?!), or she's on a mission.
Well damn right I'm on a mission.
It's Sunday morning! 20 minutes before the boulangerie closes! They have the best baguette I've ever had in my life, and 500 other French families will probably agree! I'm in a race against an unknown number of hungry Frenchies trying to snatch up the last few baguettes that are hopefully left.
As I reach the cross street, I glance nervously at the bakery, scoping out the scene and possible competition. The couple on my left are hanging a right, in the opposite direction. Good. That runner doesn't look like he's going to stop for some bread anytime soon. Great. Oh, but wait. There's a car pulling up in front of the shop window. A mother and her daughter step out with 2 large Carrefour bags. How much bread could they possibly need to fill up two Carrefour bags!? There are probably barely any baguettes left and still 8 minutes on the clock--meaning there are other people who need bread too! Those selfish, greedy bitches.
I go into finish-line mode, flooring it at 95% of my racewalking speed. But they had the advantage of getting dropped off right in front of the doorstep, and enter Boulangerie Bèle before I can. First thing I account for are the baguettes. 3 torchons left. 2 baguettes (one lady just bought one. At least she had the decency to take only what she needed). The mother and daughter in front of me probably don't notice the annoyed and cold looks I'm throwing their way. When we get to the front of the line, I hear "J'ai commandé..." and the lady working goes to the back and brings out a huge bag filled with fresh, chewy, crunchy goodness.
WHEW. They had reserved some bread ahead of time, and therefore the 3 torchons and 2 baguettes that remain are still up for the taking. Thank God. With 3 minutes left on the clock, I order 1 baguette and 1 torchon (a type of brown/wheat baguette that Patricia likes), and...yesss. They're mine.
I never thought I could fall in love with a baguette. Before France, I've always considered myself more of a rice girl, being Asian and all. But there's something about the perfect baguette that you just can't deny: you want more. Like that corny but true stereotype of the French, you walk with pride holding your baguette, cocked under one arm as if you were about to nonchalantly fire a round of soft, yeasty, delicious bread at whoever gets in your way (think Terminator). It's an excellent way to start a Sunday.
The proud baguette.
***
Boulangerie Bèle is a bakery here in Lambersart that Patricia introduced me to when I first moved here. "You have to try this. It's some of the best bread I've ever had. Probably one of the best in Lille." Coming from a French mother (who knows what's good) I put my full trust in her words and took my very first bite of what I now consider to be the best baguette ever. Cream of the crop, exemplary, top-notch, superior, incomparable baguette. The crust is thin and crackles when you press on it. The inside is moist, elastic, spongy. The perfect balance of chewy and crunchy. If you're looking for the epitome to which you should compare all baguettes, this is it.
