Bread? Dalí? What’s the connection, you might well ask.  Prising myself away from my bed and computer on Saturday, I went on an eye-opening daytrip adventure to Dalí’s Theatre-Museum in Figueres.  We arrive and lo and behold, above the museum entrance are statues holding aloft loaves of French bread.  Delighted, I could not stop smiling incredulously.  I even laughed.  Wouldn’t you?

More bread later.  For now, why don’t you join me and the lovely new companions I met along the way?  Together we set off on a fascinating journey, exclaiming as we come across the many facets of this eccentric surrealist artist who loved a good joke but was obsessed by time and feared decay and ants.

There’s so much to discover – his gold jewellery, holographs, the Aliyah (rebirth of Israel) collection, a ceiling fresco with Dalí’s and his wife Gala’s giant feet:

The Mae West room, without the looking glass, useable as a surrealist appartment with its famous lips sofa:

and through the looking glass:

Dalí was fascinated by Mae West, the American actress who became a star and sex symbol in the 1930s and would say ‘It’s not the men in your life that matters, it’s the life in your men.’  She had a way with words.

But his most faithful obsession was bread.  Ah yes, the importance of bread – one of the crumbs of information we gather as we lurk and nonchalantly eavesdrop on guides asking groups of awkward teenagers ‘What do you see?’. One guide explains how Dalí is showing us, with this golden loaf placed under the famous 1945 ‘basket of bread‘ painting, how special bread is.

And there is so much more (want a virtual tour?), including works by other artists Dalí invited to exhibit.  I was fascinated.  Though sometimes alarming with his symbols of decay and waste, Dalí is never boring – not just a pretty moustache with melting clocks.  The whole museum adventure was  amazing, thought-provoking and fun.

The cherry on the cake was the lovely time our little group later spent in cafés, especially the delightful Lloc cafè bistrot, with drinks and tapas.  Not that I’m obsessed (perish the thought) but this is a cake blog, so I’ll mention the American lady of German ancestry who recounted her grandmother’s Stollen recipe where dried fruit is of course added right at the end.  If we’re lucky, sweet reader, she might even share this recipe with us one day!  Then a Spanish guy revealed the existence of a Hoffman patisserie near my house.  Oh happy days!  They have the best croissants in Barcelona!

As we prepared to board our coach, I polished off the little Marmite brioche roll I’d brought to Figueres after immortalising it in a photo with the museum.  And yes, those are eggs on top.  Isn’t Dalí great?

The end of a perfect day.  And the end of the brioche roll.