The French and the English

Last week as soon as we got checked in we went in search of fresh bread. Oh just bake some, you’re thinking, and yes, I could do that. But heating up the boat is not high on our list in this climate, so a local bakery usually fits the bill. Or at least it does in the French islands where we ate a baguette or two every day, not to mention pastries. We followed our guidebook’s suggestion and found a tiny bakery with a small shelf of breads and a selection of pastries. I peered at the bottom rack and asked the young girl behind the counter, “What’s that?”

“Coconut cake.” It looked like a big moist, chewy cookie. I got two of those, and Jack chose two round pastries the girl said had cinnamon in them. We also bought sandwich rolls and a loaf of bread. We paid up and as I picked up the bags from the counter my heart sank. They were heavy. Really heavy. I reached in the bag and squeezed one of the rolls.

“Sinkers,” I told Jack. I broke off a piece of the coconut cake and tasted it. Dry, hard, flavorless. Later, back on EV, Jack made a sandwich with the whole wheat bread.

“How’s the bread?” I asked. It looked as dry as the buns and the coconut cake.

“It keeps the peanut butter and jelly off my hands,” he said. And that’s about all you can say about Dominican bread.

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