I am seated in my dispensable leasing place to stay in the Languedoc, southwestward of France, intake brawny achromatic potable and eating a crispy lump of french bread suppressed in apricot tree jam. A leisure in the Aude, Languedoc, could not get well again. I had been in the regional bar in Argens Minervois the past evening, and had overheard a het argumentation on the sad rising of the French Baguette. I approved to canvass further, and present are my assemblage.
France chuck generally 30 a million baguettes a day. Wow (that's a partially a french bread for all and sundry every day).