We Could Call It "Soggy Bottoms" Perhaps...

It's dawned on me lately that my English is not right. Hubster would rejoice at my admitting this, but it's not just my use of the words "pavement," "stop keep doing that," and "blimey" that cause problems for me, it's the use of the words "bread" and "toast."

Here's my dilemma....

For me in my non-French upbringing, a baguette is French bread. Which is technically correct. It IS French bread. But me calling it that seems a little redundant, don't you think? Why? Well, cause all the bread we eat here is "French" and there are more types of bread in this country than I could have ever imagined.

Harder still is the whole concept of French toast. The French don't consider French toast "toast" and I think I have to agree with them. Just try stuffing an egg soaked piece of bread in a toaster and see what happens! Pain perdu, as the French call this fabulous concoction, is happily consumed by French and non-French alike, but as Mini-Husband wants to know, "why do we call it French toast when it's made by an American?"

I've decided that the kids have a point. I need to call these bread items by more appropriate names. Hence, we'll call the bread by their proper French names. The baguette is just a plain old baguette, a couronne is the big old round wheel we get when company is here, and la boule is the big lump of fabulous doughy stuff that tastes great with butter and jam. Worst comes to worst, if I at least offer boulangerie bread or sandwich bread, the kids will know what I'm talking about. A discussion about pain shouldn't be painful.

As for French toast, well, I'm still working on a name for that one. "Eggy bread" doesn't really get the old appetite all excited, now does it? I could refer to it as "that-other-bread-thing-we-cover-with-syrup" and maybe that would work. Perhaps it's best to stick with pain perdu and just hope for the best.

But, alas, I can just see The Princess and Mini-Husband years from now, sitting in a Denny's, scanning the menu in vain for their version of "American toast" and then having to do an intense pantomime to explain exactly what it is they are looking for. Ah, the never ending joy of raising really culturally screwed up children!