Bread was reportedly an international ‘fine dining’ dish in 2017. With chefs opting for in-house bread and with ‘designer’ bakeries springing up. This seems to be a good time for what was once considered just a basic item on our plates — but I wonder how many like me in India would swear by bread.
In the north of our country, people insist on wheat flour “chapatis” and “parathas” and in the south they feel there is nothing to surpass the nutritive goodness of idlis and dosas, which are made from fermented rice and pulses.
Bread, for many, whether factory-made or freshly baked at a local bakery, is not a “native” food, but more of a western infusion.
In our childhood home, Mother did not bake her own bread and thus for the first few years of our lives, when we were in really small towns that boasted no bakeries, our staple food was rice and chapatis. Then we moved to cities and things changed. We were introduced to the popular local bread called “pao”, fluffy rolls, fruit-filled buns, and of course, regular white bread and brown bread as well.
While entertaining, Mother’s table usually held a basket of sliced bread or made-to-order loaves in the shape of animals and birds. Somehow those alligators, turtles and hens always tasted better to us than regular bread and we hoped that guests would be carb-conscious and there would be plenty left over for us!
Before cornflakes, oats and other breakfast cereals captured the collective imagination, we went from breakfast chapatis to bread — and none of us seemed any the worse for this change. Mother, though, was hugely relieved not to have to roll out dozens of chapatis early in the morning. (And indeed, dozens had to be rolled since we believed in eating every meal like kings and only heard the axiom: “Eat breakfast like a king, lunch like a prince and dinner like a pauper” years later — and of course implemented it in our own kitchens to avoid what we considered hard labour with a rolling pin.)
As Mother aged, bread found its way to our table at almost every meal — and we loved it. What could be better than a nicely stuffed sandwich for dinner? That the filling in the sandwich was thicker than both slices of bread clubbed together was probably the reason why Mother’s sandwiches were greeted with shining eyes and welcome grins.
Often, we didn’t even need the filling to enjoy the bread — and what others would think was a couple of days’ supply of bread could disappear long before mealtime if it was warm and straight from the oven!
It was only much later, when I happily offered sandwiches as a meal and had in-laws and out-laws exclaim with horror, “Bread!” “Sandwiches!” like it was hemlock or arsenic, that I became aware that for some, bread was considered the lowest form of sustenance!
My taste buds, however, have a mind of their own and despite all those warnings about white flour, crunchy baguettes, rolls and other breads are deeply relished, especially when I travel and all those varieties beckon from bakery windows and supermarket aisles ...
And with each bite I reflect on what bread represented for us as youngsters. Apart from being an item of food, it also set us on the road to independence because we two young girls were assigned the task of getting bread from the local market each evening. As we wound our way there to accomplish that simple errand, we learnt how to make choices (white bread/brown bread/rolls/buns), we learnt how to look for bargains and handle money, and we also learnt how to dodge gropers and navigate our roads safely.
Quite a bit for “just” our daily bread.
Cheryl Rao is a journalist based in India.
