With Bastille Day (July 14) behind us, the temperature is rising in France, and so is my anxiety: How can I survive the summer?

Waves of 40-degree parching heat, dryness and water shortages, last year's apocalyptic summer seared trees and grasses, drained rivers and took the lives of some 15,000 elderly people here.

The heat is likely to be back this year. In the southeast region where I live, the mercury is rising at a steady pace; even our swimming pool thermometer reads 30 degrees.

In this season, I often yearn for a fresh, ocean breeze, but the nearest beach is 150 km away, about a four-hour round trip in our Renault Espace -- with no air conditioner. While well-heeled vacationers tan themselves on Cote d'Azur beaches, I submerge myself in the tepid water of our pool and dream of autumn.

Although we don't have air conditioning at home, our house is surprisingly fresh, thanks to the old refractory system. Like many buildings in this region, our two-story home has massive brick walls, with few openings to let in the blazing Midi sun. All this makes for a snug, natural shelter against the scorching heat.

But this summer, the heat wave is coming from inside, radiating from the kitchen because my companion, Patrice, has caught the homemade bread fever and the house has been transformed into a sweltering brick oven.

Kneading the dough, watching it rise, peeping frequently into the oven, Patrice is lost for hours in the steamy kitchen piled high with ingredients and cookbooks, as he struggles to create his ideal bread.

It has long been a dream of his to make his own bread, he says, partly because his grandfather was a baker and he still remembers the sense of wonder he felt as a child watching bread being baked in a wood-fired oven.

He is tireless -- he even cultivates his own leaven with natural ingredients. He is demanding -- throwing out bread that doesn't meet his high standards. And unrelenting. Faced with such passion, it is all I can do to keep a cool head.

The bread made with care and select natural ingredients is delicious, and the smell of it baking in the oven is heavenly. Another reason why Patrice bakes at home is that even in France it is becoming more and more difficult to find traditional "real" bread, with many boulangerie seemingly preferring to stock tasteless factory-produced bread.

But if you can find a traditional bakery, there is so much to choose from -- ficelle, pain au seigle, au chocolat. Yet the bagette, that 70-cm-long, stick of golden crispy crust over a light airy bread, which is synonymous with France, remains the most popular. I prefer the hefty, round and rustic pain de campagne because it doesn't scratch the roof of my mouth.

One of the first things I bought in France was a croissant. Ten years on, I can still remember the delicious flavor of fresh butter when I bit into its soft yet crispy body. I used to think that the French started every day with croissants and cafe au lait. In fact, because they are high in calories and expensive, croissants and other vienoisseries are often a Sunday morning treat. They say the croissant is also a love barometer: If your partner gets up in the morning to bring you fresh croissants from a bakery, they really do care for you.

In July 1789, thousands of starving people stormed the Bastille prison in Paris (I don't know if their anger was actually fueled by Marie-Antoinette's quip "If there is not bread, they should eat brioche") to seize the wheat they thought was being hoarded there. It was also bread that triggered that famous revolution.

I'd welcome any comments or opinions, in Japanese or English, about my column. You can write or fax me at The Weekly, or e-mail me at jtweekly@japantimes.co.jp

The Japan Times Weekly: July 31, 2004
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