But when bread could be truly fresh it could be a treat any day, so much that some days Bob’s father literally couldn’t wait to get the bread home from the Hungarian bakery. He would bring a quarter stick of butter from home with him when he went to pick up the boys from school downtown. If they saw the butter in the front seat, they knew they were going to the bakery, just in time for the hot bread to come out of the oven at three o’clock. “We’d go over there and get a loaf of it, and it wasn’t sliced, we’d get to the car and tear it, and he had his pocketknife and he’d chop up butter and put
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