In 1971, picture-hunting one early morning in Ita, Paraguay, during a seven-month
journey around Latin America, I came unnoticed upon this heartwarming street
scene. Protected against the already fierce sun by an umbrella, this little
girl was peddling her mother’s bread from house to house.
I had one of her rolls for breakfast, and how
I wish today I could find one as good in the Pennsylvanian town where I live
these days. But there are things, like good bread, that American amazing technology
can’t make.
Or should I say, can no longer make? When visiting my mother in Belgium,
still alive 30 years ago, and asking her for some of the delights she had served
me while I grew up there, she already had to warn me that, even in our own country,
“food was no longer what it used to be.” Big industry had taken over.
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