About the only thing that can get me out of bed at seven in the morning occurs in France. It’s the time when the bakeries open, and fresh, just-out-of-the-oven baguettes are available. So fresh and hot are they that there will be a burn mark across the fleshy part of your arm from carrying it back home. Iove that burn mark; it’s badge of honor, a mark of good taste. A baguette tattoo.