Yesterday, we made an emergency trip to the grocery store for ice. (Hey, you can't have happy hour without ice, right?) On the spur of the moment, I decided to grab a couple of bagels for breakfast. Some branches of this store have clear, plastic bags for their bagels--this particular store had white bakery bags.
To me, there's always been something mysterious about a white bakery bag. You can't see inside. It came from a bakery. Bakeries have all KINDS of wonderful things. Cookies, Danish, white mountain rolls, bagels, turnovers, cream horns, little cakes, cupcakes . . . the list goes on and on.
I used to come home from work for lunch several days a week. Not my home, my parents' home. And often there'd be a white bakery bag sitting on the counter. More often than not, there'd be one of Jackson Bakery's little white cakes inside. They were my favorite, and my Dad knew it. Oh, what a delight after one of Dad's chicken salad sandwiches to have that little cake with a cup of tea. I'd eat it in teeny tiny bites just to prolong the ecstacy.
Jackson's Bakery is still around and they still sell those little cakes. Our wedding anniversary is next week and I predict one of Jackson's little coconut cakes. (This is last year's model.) Okay, it doesn't come in a bakery bag. No, it comes in a white bakery box tied with string. Oh, the wonders that can be contained in one of those bakery boxes. A dozen cookies. Half a dozen Danish or apple turnovers. Cakes. Pies. And the list goes on and on.
Ya think I have a sweet tooth?