In Sélestat, a pretty little town in Alsace, France, there is the Humanist Library, founded in 1455, with its amazing collection of medieval manuscripts, early printed works, and, to my delight, an early copy of Virgil’s Aeneid, which I had edited at Penguin (trans. Robert Fagles). It is a place full of treasures, and its interactive features bring new pleasure to the art of browsing.

Across from the library, there is a curious looking building which houses the Maison du Pain—a bread shop, where bread is baked daily, some of it using methods dating back to the sixteenth century. While we stood there trying to decide which loaf to take back to Strasbourg, a steady stream of people came in, made their purchases without hesitation and left with their loaves. There was, in the end, one loaf left—a pain de grains de lin—rye flour, oat flour, linseeds—and the sales girl behind the counter said in French, take it, it will go soon. Another woman had her eyes on it and reached out for it, but the woman behind the counter said, Non, Madame, il est vendu. It’s sold. Its freshly baked scent filled the car as we drove back home.

The building also houses the bread museum, which was renovated in 2018, and where the history of bread is told through the moulds and rolling pins, whisks and beaters, mixing tubs, baskets, and flour sifters of the ages. Here, as we walked up the winding staircase to the second floor, I saw this magnificent pillar, its crevices and mouldings lit by two discreet lights. It was just there, with rolling pins in the background eloquently speaking for the artisans who devoted their time to bread and baking here. As I viewed the pillar, wondering about the particular tilt of the light, my eyes traveled along its curves, and it was almost a shock to see the delicately carved sheaves of wheat on an inner spiral. These bakers loved what they did, and took pride in an aesthetic that showcased their building and their work.