It is not every day you see an artisan French bread maker in action. Some wicked morsel in the window of an unassuming back-street boulangerie in the unassuming town of Prades drew us indoors. Before long we were crammed into a century old bakery at the back of the store where great sacks of pulverised grain and flour leaned heavily against white washed walls, checking out all the action.
Not a sugar sack in sight. The grains and flours are mixed in giant vats. Water and a yeast and dough starter called levain, are added. When the dough rises, elongated tubes of it are laid out on neatly spaced scallop-shaped trays ready for the fuel driven ovens along the back wall: slow ovens for crispy breads, faster ovens for thinner skinned bread. The dough prepped now will be baked about 2 o’clock, in the cool of the early morning.
We spent a good hour watching Bruno, master boulanger, pastry chef and chocolatier, finish off a tray of pomme tartlettes (his puff pastry was handmade and light as air), and skilfully, individually dipping exceptional chocolate truffles into a final bath of dripping chocolate before going on display in the window.
His truffles had been days in the making; there were so many layers. They were entirely hand-built in unusual pinched shapes, or in the more traditional ball rolls. There were layers of built chocolate mixed with nuts, or honey, or Armagnac, or whisky, or brandy, dipped in ganache, then rolled in sugar, nuts, or bitter cocao. We were swamped in samples, which, quite simply, were the most delicious chocolate concoctions any of us have ever tasted.
Bruno, one of the most skilled pastry chefs and chocolatiers in France, has worked all over the world: Toronto, elegant establishments in the High Alps, Corsica, and at one time he almost moved to Australia. Now, with a growing family he has happily settled down in this small shabby town that, in his words, is close to everywhere: the beach is just down the road, the mountains are on his doorstep. He is happy here.
He is not perturbed that Super U, down the road, has on its shelves cheaper bread, laden with preservatives, shrink-wrapped to stay fresh for days. Bruno’s bread lasts just hours. He is not perturbed that there are four other bakeries in this tiny town vying for the bread market. That some of these use frozen dough bothers him not one bit, either. He sells to those who want his bread.
Life is good. He wants for nothing. He is not rich, he says, but he is happy. And those who want Bruno’s bread are buying quality. Traditional, from ages past, hand made, delicious. Just like his chocolates.
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| Bruno, master boulanger and pastry chef |
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| Every oven in the bakery has a different function |
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| Artisan chocolates |
Yum!
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