When going on a morning walk in the crisp, early hours with my grandmother, my mind was not profoundly engaged with the history and culture of her beautiful country. Nor was I pondering any deep and intrinsic sense of proud French patriotism. While marching down the winding paths in the heart of her small Breton town, running circles around trees and gazing around at the apartments and shuttered shops turned rosy in the early morning glow, the only thing going through my small, seven-year-old mind was the mission at hand: visiting the bakers, my favorite place in the world.

“Pas trop vite, Dylan!” (Not too fast, Dylan!), my grandmother called after me as I raced ahead.

“Mais on est presque là, Mamie! Je peux déjà les sentir!” (But we’re almost there, Mamie! I can already smell them!) I called back, my anticipation growing exponentially.

We had embarked on one of the daily duties of the early risers, a job of great importance. We were tasked with bringing home one of the greatest creations of all time, an ever-evolving food that had lasted the ages. Something that, in the opinion of many, now calls France its adopted home. Bread, the food of the people, the food of the gods.

Since the dawn of human civilization, there has been bread. The evidence is abundant, ranging from molecular remains in caves to now-impalatable, hardened loaves. Bread has appeared throughout history and has always been the food of ordinary people. This basic function was never more evident than in France in 1789, when a lack of bread became the spark needed to set off the tinderbox of the French Revolution. During that year, the mismanagement of the country by Louis XVI essentially rendered it bankrupt. To offset the plummeting economy, the King increased taxes on bread by 200 percent. As the working classes were already spending half of their daily wages on bread, such a harsh price hike put them in severe poverty. To exacerbate the situation, Marie Antoinette, the Queen of France, threw frequent and lavish parties while the poor, lower classes were suffering in the streets. This disparity enraged the population of France and paved the way for revolt and the beheading of French royalty, leading ultimately to the deadly Reign of Terror. Ever since, ordinary French people have insisted on their right and privilege to begin each day with delicious — and affordable — baguettes, miches, and brioches.

“Allez Mamie, je peux voir la boulangerie!” (Come on Mamie, I can see the bakery!)

Entering the small town square, the warm, welcoming light of the bakery shone in stark contrast to the other plain, unopened storefronts. Through my eyes, the Pearly Gates stood before me: cobblestones turned into dense clouds of white, and nothing else in the world mattered. As I walked across the threshold of my personal heaven, each of my senses was immediately assaulted. The hum of work in the back rooms of the bakery, the incredible visual display of confectionary delights, and the cold glass on my finger as I pointed to my favorite pastries all made for an exquisite experience. The most remarkable aspect of the bakery, however, was the wonder of divine scents rising from the shelves and swirling through the air.

The smell of bread has accompanied ordinary people in revolutions beyond French borders, famously in Russia during World War One. A brutal war of attrition on the European continent had been going on for three years, and almost every aspect of people’s lives had been impoverished. The grocery stores of Moscow and St. Petersburg had empty shelves, and the Russian people were hungry: for both bread and justice. In 1917, the dam of grievances broke, and riots filled the streets to rid the country of its leader, Czar Nicholas III. As the voice of the Communist Party, Vladimir Lenin cried out for “Peace, land, and bread, now!” Once again, bread was at the heart of historical change, and everyday reliance on warm loaves was shown to be worth dying for.

Back in the bakery, I gazed upon one of the most glorious creations under the sun: the baguette viennoise. This is, for me, the perfect blend of a soft interior and smooth exterior. This treat was my most coveted item on the many shelves of the local boulangerie.

“Mamie, est-ce qu-on peut acheter celle ci?” (Mamie, can we buy this one?) I asked hopefully, pointing at a baguette viennoise with chocolate chips. I was trying my luck, as the paramount combination of bread and chocolate always seemed just outside my realm of possibilities for an actual purchase.

“Toujours le gourmand, toi! Il est quand même sept heures, on ne va pas manger du chocolat. La baguette viennoise normale va être parfaite.” (Always the greedy one, you are! It’s only seven o’clock, we are not going to eat chocolate. The normal baguette viennoise will be perfect for you.)

“D’accord, mais la prochaine fois tu promets qu’on l’achète!” (Fine, but promise you’ll buy it next time!)

The regular baguette viennoise was still the best thing I had ever tried, so I had absolutely no complaints. Exiting the warmth of the store and moving into the first rays of the morning light, we began the short stroll back to my grandmother’s apartment. As a seven-year-old, I felt that I was completing a very important task: I was feeding the family. In reality, of course, the only thing I actually did on
those trips was help my grandmother carry the bags, while smiling in anticipation of my wonderful breakfast.

As a child in love with bread, I never stopped to think about where it came from. Part of the reason why countries in Europe, such as France, have such a constant supply of bread for their huge populations is due to certain places that cultivate immense fields of wheat. In particular, the country of Ukraine has been one of the top sellers of wheat since the late 2010s, most of which is turned into bread. After the fracture of the Soviet Union in 1991, Ukraine slowly began to establish itself on the world market for wheat, accounting for 9.5 percent of global wheat production in 2021. Then, in early 2022, Russia invaded Ukraine and threw the world into crisis. The vast fields of wheat once regularly harvested were now a battleground for vicious fighting. The beast of war trampled through the once-peaceful farmlands, leaving twisted shells, poisonous chemicals, and the debris of battle in its wake. The once-booming wheat industry has now become a fraction of what it once was, and Ukrainian farmers take what they have to neighboring countries in order to avoid a complete collapse of the economy. It is still unclear what the long-term consequences of this brutal war will be, but yet again we see the effects of history on bread and the effects of bread on history.

As I finally laid out the bread on the breakfast table for my family, I remained happily unaware of the struggles people have gone through to put this special food on the table through history, from the days of the Bastille and the Bolsheviks, to the Ukrainian farmers braving war today. The journey from wheat, to flour, to family meal is usually forgotten as people enjoy their daily bread. One last task remained before I could indulge myself. It was now my job to rouse the rest of the family.

“C’est l’heure du p’tit dej’! Allez, allez, allez!” (It’s time for breakfast! Come on, come on, come on!)

As groans and yawns filled the apartment, something much more interesting also began to permeate the space. Just as with every other family in France, the boulangerie had made its way into our home. The smells, the breaking of bread, and the sight of a red-and-white tablecloth covering the dining table made me realize that this was the only place in the world where I would ever feel this way. It’s not only a part of my memories, but a part of who I am now, as a part of me will always be a seven-year-old boy sitting at the kitchen table of my French grandmother, gazing at the most iconic of all French foodstuffs. A source of energy for ordinary people, and a force of historical change; bread has been many things, but to me, it will always represent a personal, ever-present connection between my grandmother, my family,
and France.