Saturday, February 16, 2013
When I was a little girl my Dad worked for his Dad at a big bakery in Chicago. The bread was packaged in wax paper. It was different than grocery store bread. It was wholesale bread; for restaurants. Along with brownies and Neapolitans and cookies with paper pictures of Santa, Dad would bring home a bag of hard rolls. I think it was called the baker's dozen (13 rolls) or Bake and Serve.
In this bag came a few kaiser rolls, some other rolls, and one roll shaped like a little banana, kind of a crescent. Maybe it was a crescent roll. That's sounds right. Crescent. Not croissant. But what was special about these little crescent rolls, besides the fact that there was only one in a bag, it had kosher salt on it.
But the salt was in a small packet and was sprinkled on the roll just before baking. It was the best roll.
With seven people in the family it was coveted. Maybe mostly by me. I clearly remember sitting at the table and hoping to snag the precious salty roll.
(Ya know. My dad could have made a whole bag of those for us. Why didn't he think of that?)
Anyway. Soft pretzels were not popular treats in the suburbs of Chicago. So I never satisfied my salty bread kick with those.
But one day, I do not know when or where, but I stumbled upon a salt bagel.
I was home.