I’m kidding myself when I think I’ve made progress, food-wise, after a year in France. True, I’ve learned a lot about the wonderful cheeses, the difference between Comte and Cantal, brebis and chevre. And when I saw the package of Kraft singles in my daughter’s refrigerator, I looked away in disgust. Then I saw the bag of white bread on the counter.
Together, they still seem like some kind of miracle.