I enjoy my morning stop at my local bakers, in fact, I look forward to it. It’s all of one block down the road from the place I work – so even if I’m late I can still stop in! I tap on the metal door to enter, and in the cool morning air the hot delicious smelling air of the oven is heavenly. The first time I stepped in I couldn’t get over the size of the brick oven – it’s huge! It monopolizes the whole room. The bakery is in essence, the huge oven, with a few benches on the side. Fresh bread is placed in piles on the floor, bread yet to be put in the oven waits on a high counter on the far wall. Everything is coated with flour, to the point that I think twice about putting my bag down or even touching the walls. It’s a family business, but one young guy seems to be responsible for the baking. All night and early morning he works diligently, lining up dough on his flat wooden paddle, and transforming them into fresh baked baguettes. He has a flashlight jerry-rigged to the side of his head like he’s going to explore a cave – this is so he can see inside the oven. I choose a loaf and happily bite off one end as a taste test – yep, good just like last week, and the week before (really an unnecessary step, but so satisfying). The baker confides in me that he’s making a special batch of his ‘pan d’or’ (literally, gold bread – he puts egg in it, some kind of Lebanese recipe I’ve been told) today and to come back at noon. I arrive on the dot, and he gives me 2 of the round flatbreads to take home, curtsey of the house. I think he enjoys having a foreigner as his daily clientele (most likely his first) as much as I enjoy his bread, so it’s a win-win situation.