Whose bread is best?

There are few things guaranteed in life: taxes, death, and encounters with bread. Bread is more than what meets the eye, it is history, culture, survival. It could be the smell of your home, it has been the fuel of revolutions, it is enjoyed and created by every different type of person. Every country has its own version of perfection, its own argument for why their bread is the best.

Think of it as a map: bread tells you where you are. In the north (Germany, Scandinavia, Ireland) you get the dark, dense stuff. This is the kind of bread built for long winters and hard work, made from rye and barley because wheat doesn’t grow in the cold. Denmark’s rugbrød and Ireland’s soda bread are practical, no-nonsense, built to last. Head south, and the loaves get lighter, airier. France, Italy, Spain: this is wheat country, where golden baguettes, ciabatta, and brioche rise in warm, sun-drenched fields. Keep going down the map, and the bread flattens out. Pita, lavash, and injera are breads designed to be torn, scooped, and shared. It’s not just about what’s available, it’s about how people eat, how they live. Bread adapts, it always has.

Sometimes it is a mark left by colonialism, take Vietnam for instance, with one of the world’s most craved sandwiches: bánh mì. Stuffed with pickled vegetables, pâté, and meats sandwiched on a baguette, the only decent thing the French left during their colonial rule. The Vietnamese baguette has now developed into their own monster — lighter, crispier and often made with rice flour. Vietnam’s bánh mì is a testament to resilience, to making the best out of history’s leftovers. 

I doubt we’ll ever settle this debate, and no matter what I say, someone’s going to have an opinion. But let’s break it down, embrace the appetite, and try to keep things civil.

I’ll start strong with Germany, they’re not just good at bread, they’re often referred to as the bread capital of the world with over 3,000 officially recognized types. In 2014, UNESCO’s German Commission officially recognized German bread culture as part of the country’s “intangible cultural heritage”. Rye, spelt, and whole grains are the bread of industrious bakers, of centuries-old craftsmanship, of people who know that a good loaf should be hearty, nourishing, and deeply satisfying. Vollkornbrot, dense and full of fibre, has been a staple since medieval times, built to sustain hard-working hands. Pumpernickel — slow-baked to perfection — carries a deep, almost caramelized richness that few breads can match. I understand that this is not to everybody’s taste, let’s move to their neighbours.

The French like nice things, satisfying the senses, art and food are their strong points. French bread is about artistry — minimal ingredients, maximum technique. The baguette, with its crisp crust and airy crumb, is the definition of less is more. The long and slender loaf only became a staple in the 1920s when labour laws came in that stopped workers from getting up before 4am, meaning bakers had less time to make their bread, adopting a faster-cooking shape. But its true mastery is in how effortlessly it defines the French bistro experience. A French meal isn’t complete without a basket of bread waiting to soak up sauces, complement a cheese plate, or simply be enjoyed with a glass of wine. Bread is not just an afterthought, it’s part of the ritual.

Let’s talk about the boot. Italian bread has taken over Dublin in the form of pizza slices, and no one’s complaining. But don’t be offended that I’m swiftly moving on from pizza, I’ll get to flatbreads with toppings from the people who actually started it in the Middle East and North Africa. What I will dwell on is focaccia: pillowy, golden, infused with olive oil. And there’s ciabatta: chewy, rustic, built to cradle the tastiest panino or soak up a rich ragu. It is bread that belongs in the centre of a table. Where Italian bread truly shines is in its ability to bring people together. It’s not just something on the side, it’s woven into the rhythm of a meal, an invitation to linger, to talk, truly preserving the Italian way of life.

Time to flatten this out. Greece brings something different to the table with pita bread — a flat, pocket-style bread that’s a staple of Mediterranean cuisine. Greeks have been baking bread since ancient times, and pita bread is proof that simplicity can be genius. Whether it’s wrapped around souvlaki or used to scoop up tzatziki, Greek bread is all about function. Light yet substantial, soft yet strong, pita does its job beautifully. It’s the Swiss Army knife of bread. Moving further, the Middle East is home to some of the world’s oldest bread traditions. Lavash, manakish, and khubz are just a few examples of the region’s flavorful and diverse breads. Baked in clay ovens, grilled over open flames, they carry the essence of the region’s rich history and often serve as the foundation of meals. In my humble opinion, it is the most notable bread culture, passed down through generations, and still as relevant today as it was thousands of years ago.

There’s no right answer. It’s personal to you, it’s probably the most historically and politically stained food item. The best bread is the one that you remember for a while after eating it. We’re so lucky to have access to so many different cultures and types of food in this city that whatever sticks with you, what makes you stop for a moment to appreciate something so simple is what matters. Be like bread: don’t overcomplicate, and open yourself up to change.