French Bread: The Decaying Myth of Excellence

Reading Time: 4 minutes

We often talk about French bread, and the French food industry at large, as if it still represents the pinnacle of tradition, craftsmanship, and flavour. Yet the food culture here has shifted faster than our assumptions. Much of what people mistakenly praise today relies more on industrial systems than on talented hands. This article briefly explores my experience of this gap from the bread lens: the story we are led to believe, and the reality we actually get.

French Bread, a cliché of Perfection

There’s this wild misconception that when it comes to bread, France can do no wrong.

The country is renowned for its baguettes, boulangeries, and so-called artisanal traditions. However, after living here for almost 10 years, I can safely say that my experience has been decidedly different from the popular cliché.

As someone for whom bread is more than a small daily joy, I found myself stunned, disheartened even, by how many allegedly “artisanal” bakeries offer products that are dry, industrial, and strangely lifeless. Bread with the right appearance, yet none of the taste or depth that true rusticity brings.

And while exceptional and honest bakers surely still exist, they are not the norm.
Not here in my corner of the Mediterranean anyway.

Industrial Bread Disguised as Tradition

Similarly to majority of our modern world, industrial products have become the default. Bread is no different. Mimicking tradition with the golden crust and the familiar scents, but beneath the surface lies speed, additives, shortcuts, and a complete absence of savoir-faire (know how).

Read my article on why additives are a problem here.

Bread has become a product, not a craft. For many this doesn’t seem to be an issue, but contrary to the masses, I actually think this sacrilege.

“Let’s talk about values: bakery entrepreneurs have sacrificed them on the altar of profit and “success.” The focus is on speed, ever-increasing speed, even at the cost of forgetting who you are. Defending the values ​​of an artisan baker means respecting the fundamentals and ensuring that bread and related products remain the cornerstone of the business.” – ^{_{Translated from https://painrisien.com/etre-artisan-boulanger/}}

Why I Turned to Sourdough

Eventually, the ongoing disappointment pushed me towards making my own bread.

Unlike a lot of people that opt to make bread at home, using mass-produced yeast felt out of alignment with my values. Being dependant on huge industries with trade secrets and hidden processes didn’t appeal to me.

Homemade sourdough, in all its fermenting, slow, living, profound goodness, was the only path that made sense. Feeding a starter, watching it respond, learning the rhythm… it woke something in me. A kind of reverence for the way food was made long before industrial timelines replaced natural ones.

As far as I’m concerned:
Food made on nature’s timeline nourishes us; food mass-produced on industry’s timeline merely fills a hole.

After shaping a loaf born from something alive that you’ve cared for with love, it’s hard to imagine eating anything else.

The Living Difference: Nature vs. Industry

Once you’ve appreciated bread made with respect, time and microbial life, industrial bread really feels like a cheap imitation, an insult even. Working with whole, honest ingredients brings us back to a kind of integrity we’ve mostly lost these days.

Processed food might be convenient, but it starves our health, our vitality, our senses, our connection to art in the mundane. Modern industry optimises for shelf life, not human life or nature.

“Oh yes, it’s convenient, especially when you’re coming home from work and you’re tired. However, it’s not bakery fare, it’s not really bread. Just a concoction of flour, water, yeast, salt, and strange additives. No life, no soul in it. As for the taste, forget it. This bread isn’t good, neither in terms of taste nor health benefits: very white, poor-quality flour, the use of additives…” – ^{_{Translated from https://painrisien.com/paul-la-brioche-doree-points-chauds-divers-et-la-boulangerie-dans-tout-ca/}}

Every sourdough starter is genetically unique and shaped by:

• the flour used
• the water
• the kitchen environment
• the feeding habits

It’s the opposite of mass production:
It’s a living ecosystem, not a product.

And our bodies feel that difference whether we acknowledge it or not.

Sourdough as a Form of Resistance

Learning to make sourdough has been more than a practical choice; it has been a delightful resistance, a fertile revolution if you will. A way to bake more truth and integrity into my life.

A return to the delicious rhythm of slowness, patience and respect.
The development of a deep relationship with the stuff that nourishes us every day.
An epiphany in the small rituals that make food feel meaningful again.

Realistically, this journey taught me something simple:
When we work with nature, rather than against it, we are fulfilled.

We can’t rewrite the industrial food system overnight, but we can choose how we participate in it. For me, that choice begins with opting out of mass-produced, industrial fare as much as possible. And opting-in to whole food nourishment, creating art in the mundane and the decision to do it slowly, honestly, and with intention.

Yours reverently,
Chacha @thesortinghouse

Read my article on why additives in food are a problem next.