Everyone has a favourite bread. I've had many favourites over the years, ever since my family's bread was delivered in the early '60s by Mr Goodwin, the baker's man, driving a Morris van up the street, and before that, a horse and cart. I barely remember the horse, but apparently it used to eat the foliage on the tree at the front gate while Mr Goodwin was patiently waiting for mum to make her selection from the basket - pipe loaf, unsliced high tin, brown or white sandwich loaf or dinner rolls with poppy seeds, all fresh from the bakery. Then I grew up and someone opened a French bakery somewhere and we discovered French bread, chewy but light, with an amazing depth of flavour. To this day, I believe soft, runny cheeses taste best on a hunk of genuine fresh baguette. After that, I went through a rye bread stage, smearing it with creamy butter and dipping it in chicken broth. Parathas, naan, chapatis, those toasted Greek bread rings with nutty sesame they sell in the de