Come on, admit it, British bread is much better than this Italian stuff…
I have finally discovered something that I miss about Britain; a nice fresh, soft loaf of Mothers’ Pride bread. Processed, probably filled with all kinds of weird modified, life-threatening chemicals, but doesn’t it taste good? It makes perfect toast, lightly grilled with butter or, better still, a real treat with the centre pulled out and rolled into a ball in the palm of your hands and eaten in one mouthful. Delicious. It is also a really good way of cleaning your hands.
Admittedly, it is probably easier to find a French Baguette or an Italian Ciabatta in England, but at least you can still get unhealthy bread if you go to the right places.
You can even get it in restaurants. Well, I say restaurants but you know what I mean, those places where you can get a real English breakfast any time of day. On a recent visit to UK I was reminded that English breakfast even comes served with a dollop of brown sauce, unless you are really quick and stop them, but who is that together at 8am after the insanely early Pisa – Liverpool Ryanair flight? But then, an equivalent activity here in Italy would be regarded as local character and would have us all trekking out into rural areas in search of some traditionally prepared food, finishing off with a glass of grappa as you head for the door. But try buying a grappa anywhere else in the world and you will run into difficulty, there must be a reason for that?
Sure, you can get approximations of soft bread in Italy but, generally, Italian bakers fail to come up to the mark in the field of unhealthy processed bread, although strangely that does not seem to hurt their popularity. It can be quicker getting served in the bank than buying your daily bread at most of them. And their bread is admittedly excellent; crusty, fresh, tasty,sometimes it even has salt in it.
So what is my problem? Why the longing for the processed squidgy stuff which is about as good for you as a dose of Swine Flu?
I’m not saying that Mother’s Pride is a real alternative to fresh Italian bread. Even if it does fit in the toaster it still doesn’t absorb the olive oil. I’ve tried, it all just drips off leaving the bread completely unmarked. So I am not really sure where the longing for nasty processed British bread comes from and what it says about my mental health. But it is there so I guess it is just something I need to deal with and try to accept what is probably obvious to all of you that you cannot really compare production line bread with something produced by an artisan. It is like comparing a Ford Focus with a Ferrari. But then again, which one would you choose if you actually needed to drive somewhere?
