"Ich esse gern Schwarzbrot!", Der Bund, Volume 88, Number 520, 7 November 1937, p. 5.
The editors introduce this article with a short piece ["Unser täglich Brot"}:
In our country, bread has become the subject of health and economic considerations and measures. For several years now, we in Switzerland have been reading, talking, and writing a great deal about bread, reflecting its great importance. Bread eaters themselves rarely have a say. Their opinions are expressed more often in the rise or fall in sales volumes of this or that bread. Certainly, everyone would like to eat healthy, inexpensive, and yet tasty bread. But what is tasty? Why do we love this bread, why not that one, and why is the one on our mother's table always the most incomparable? The following essay addresses such questions. We are publishing it as an encouragement to consider bread eating from a purely personal perspective. The Editors.
Google translate:
I like eating black bread!
T. B. F.
In my parents' house, which was in Poland, there were many different pastries for breakfast. White bread in large loaves was unknown there; it appeared only in the form of small rolls (Semmeln), but in what a variety of shapes! There were round, oblong, circular, and crescent-shaped, flat and bulbous, with a smooth surface or artfully woven from dough ribbons, prepared with or without milk, which gave them a lighter or more golden brown appearance. They were also garnished in various ways, scattered with black and white poppy seeds, or with brown caraway seeds and dill, with salt that shimmered yellow, and even with coarse, granulated sugar, whose small crystals were delightedly licked off by children before they even took a bite.
Next to these types of bread, in the large basket lay a loaf of "bread" that already stood out in color. The bread was always dark, with an indefinable gray-brown color for which no name has yet been found. It was rye sourdough bread—which tasted delicious and was always eaten at every meal. Occasionally, the actual "black bread" also appeared on the table. While it could be purchased in small loaves from the bakery, its suppliers were usually the soldiers. The military (it was the time of Russian rule) received an incredible amount of black bread as a daily ration, made from specially milled flour, which very often still contained bits of bran. Dark brown like chocolate, with yellowish, lumpy flecks of grain hulls, hard and chewy, it had a distinctive, bitter flavor (similar to the aristocratic pumpernikel) and was a huge hit with the Polish population. The soldiers, who had to survive on meager pay, were happy to sell their surplus. Their white, strong teeth, which they displayed with pleased smiles when making a purchase, were the best advertisement for this bread fort.
Although our parents' table was lavish and exquisite, these dark breads were my favorite food.
I learned from my mother that as a one-year-old child, I would quietly play for hours on the carpet with a crust of bread in my mouth. It's remarkable that throughout my life, whenever I felt hungry, I craved nothing but bread.
But now, as I grew older, my nutritional misery began. In Paris, where I lived for a long time, there were only meter-long, thin, white breadsticks, with a crispy crust, but inside with soft, loose, "wide-meshed" dough. Who can describe the horror of a true bread eater when presented with only this dough! The magic of the "Ville Lumiere" paled in comparison to this discomfort. I began a hunt for dark bread, which, according to numerous inquiries, was supposed to be available in this or that alley. There were indeed Russian shops, but where, in which areas? The small colonial merchants who sold black bread refused to listen to the idea of sending the loaves by mail to another part of town. It wasn't worth it; they didn't have the time. And so my memory of Paris remained tainted with the primal deficiency of not producing decent bread.
The same thing happened again in Switzerland, which became my second home.
I'll cite a small incident from this time of bread deprivation.
I arrived in Prague with a large group for a few days. The next morning, immediately after leaving the hotel, where delicious Weitz rolls had been served for breakfast, I saw a grocery store, a bakery, and a coachman's pub, in whose windows lay the home-baked breads I knew so well. My decision was made in a flash. I apologized to the group for not being able to have lunch with them due to another commitment, and as soon as I was alone, I went to a coachman's pub, sat down at the table, ordered sausage and a double portion of bread. The sausage was a pitiful accompaniment to the gray-black sourdough. I gulped down incredible amounts, at the pace of a starving person.
The waiter, although he was certainly used to a lot, gave me a disdainful look with each new order. But what did that matter to me in a strange city? I felt like I was at a feast. Slices of beloved bread piled up before me!
Did you eat well? my friends asked me afterward. — "Divine!" I exclaimed enthusiastically. I'm not ashamed to say: When I think of the beautiful memories of my life, the meal in Prague is among them: the reunion with the beloved bread I had missed for so long!
I even (secretly) took two large loaves with me to Switzerland.
Well, in the long run, the white bread of my beloved homeland became unbearable. People did buy Graham grain bread and other medicinal breads, but they weren't a proper substitute for what they were deprived of. For two years, bread was imported from Czechoslovakia. This had many disadvantages.
Then another solution came along. In a village near Zermatt, I found, to my great joy, bread that looked and tasted similar to Russian soldier's bread. For another two years, the good farmers from Valais sent it to us regularly.
Meanwhile, the call for black bread was heard in Switzerland as well. I breathed a sigh of relief. As a bread lover, however, I haven't been getting my money's worth so far; wholemeal bread isn't prepared well everywhere. However, I'm much better off than before. The strangest thing is that, despite having lived in Switzerland for almost two decades, the craving for "real" bread remains undiminished. This is proof that the desire for it represents the body's need for the nutrients contained in that bread. I miss nothing in my diet except "good" bread, and no delicacy, no meat or vegetable dish can replace it.
On my many travels, I divide countries into those with good or bad bread, hotels into those with tasty or bland bread. One of the horrors of the World War that I experienced in Germany was war bread. As I put the moist, sticky mass, which looked like plasticine, into my mouth, I felt the full misery of war.
For me, bread is a symbol not only of necessary daily sustenance, but also of physical well-being and the enjoyment of taste. When people complain in some places today about the reduced consumption of popular bread, it should be considered whether the blame for this might not also lie in the quality of the bread, which not everyone enjoys.
A follow-up got published: "Schwarzes und weißes Brot Vom Gourmand aus beurteilt" Der Bund, Volume 88, Number 562, 1 December 1937
Black and White Bread
A Gourmet's Perspective
T. B. F.
The author of the article "I Eat Black Bread" in issue 520 of the "Bund" writes to us:
My complaint has brought me much support and support. I was often recommended stores where particularly good black bread could be found. I was also given a taste of a wonderfully tasty Valais rye bread. I now thank everyone here and confess that in many places a hearty, magnificent brown bread is offered, something I was previously unaware of. But all this does not relieve me from asking the following questions: 1. Why do bakeries advertise so little for tasty bread? 2. Couldn't more bakeries stock new varieties of brown bread and make them available to a wider public? And now one more remark. I also heard objections that I had pushed white bread too far in favor of brown bread in my article. Brown bread, after all, is not digestible for everyone; one must also consider those suffering. Certainly. But those with stomach problems belong in a special chapter, which is not relevant for our discussion. In contrast, I would like to rehabilitate white bread in a different way. It owes its popularity to the fact that it is more delicious than brown bread as an accompaniment to many dishes. Chocolate can It can be enjoyed with white bread, but not with brown bread. Almost all the types of fish with which we top that appetizing roll (sardines, tuna, salmon, etc.) taste much better with white bread; the same applies to many types of meat and some vegetables, even certain fruits. French workers often content themselves with white bread and red wine for their meals, but this drink, so essential to them, would certainly not taste good with brown bread. There is a harmony of taste sensations, just as there is a harmony of colors and tones. Therefore, I allow white bread to live, reaching for it with some dishes—but it is precisely the accompaniment that enhances the flavor of other dishes ("spice without pungency"). However, our only food, brown bread, recommended even by doctors, remains in its various and delicious forms.