Once upon a time, I lived in Paris, with my husband and our dog, who lived for the baguette.
One day while waiting for my girls outside their school on the Boulevard Arago, my dog licked a baguette that was poking out of a woman's tote bag. I was embarrassed. She was cool about it. She broke the end off and handed it to Lucy.
When Lucy would see bits of baguette on the street, she'd eat them. She'd veer unexpectedly into boulangeries, and puddles of drool would form by her feet when a warm, crackly baguette was too close to the edge of the dinner table.
We moved back to Madison, looked in vain for really good baguettes, and had a baby. Then we moved here.
Somehow, bread-snob genes are now crossing species.
Today, at the grocery store, my daughter licked a baguette that was poking out of a basket.
(Yes, I bought it. Only about a month until we return! I can't WAIT!!!)